


The Man in Me

by Nestri



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Omega Clint Barton, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 64,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25921084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nestri/pseuds/Nestri
Summary: After years of being held captive, Clint knows exactly what carrying would mean for him. His Alpha Claimer, hungry for money, will sell the pup to another Alpha and he'll never see his child again. When he manages to escape, he hopes he finds a new Claimer in Alpha Steve.***Steve doesn't know what to think about the dirty and injured man he's stumbled upon. But when the omega bares his neck at him in terrified submission, Steve knows he needs to help this man in any way he can.Inspiration: St. Elmo's Fire by John Parr (Absolutely no relation to the movie)
Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 485
Kudos: 745





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for clicking! I hope you like it. 
> 
> t/w for this chapter: Graphic Depictions of Violence and Non-Con

Clint feels a sense of dread when he misses a cycle. Though he isn’t showing yet, he has a clear understanding of what’s happening to him. After nearly two decades of being held captive, Clint knows exactly what carrying would mean for him. His Alpha Claimer, hungry for money, will sell the pup to another Alpha and he’ll never see his child again.

But he’s determined to keep his pup. A shiver of fear races up Clint’s back as he dares to think about an escape plan. He closes his eyes to imagine freedom; suddenly he’s not on a bare bed but instead in the arms of a kind Alpha. One that only hits him when he’s bad and lets his body heal before mounting him.

His fantasy comes to an abrupt halt when the door of his bedroom unlocks with a click. His Claimer slams open the door, and pockets the key.

The Alpha is unsteady on his feet, obviously inebriated, and Clint hopes that tonight he’ll be quick. Clint still feels aching pain throbbing around his hole and lower back. He keeps his mouth shut, exhausted and hurt.

Clint rises to get on his hands and knees. His Claimer impatiently yanks Clint’s pants to mid thigh. A hand shoving at the back of his head forces his face into the dirtied mattress. He can hear his Claimer spit onto his hand and palm himself. Clint isn’t in heat or aroused, but some slick leaks out of his hole. He tries to breathe calmly to keep himself from tensing.

Clint forces himself not to let out a sound when his Claimer pushes into him. He can feel blood trickle as his Claimer’s shaft rubs against inflamed, torn flesh. Clint can’t stop the whimper he lets out as his Claimer pulls out and then pushes back in to fully seat himself.

His Claimer uses his other hand to grab Clint’s hip in a crushing grip, “Shut up.” he snarls. Clint floats back into his fantasy where he’s being fucked by an Alpha that wouldn’t give away his child. An Alpha that lets him eat even when he’s been punished.

The bed’s rusty springs squeak with each brutal thrust. Clint focuses on the sound to drown out the useless hope of his fantasies. Come spills into his hole as his Claimer finishes with a scowl. When he pulls out, Clint whimpers again at the burning sensation.

His Claimer back hands him and Clint goes sprawling on the bed. “Thought I told you to shut up, stupid whore.” Clint lays there, not wanting to incite more violence. He bares his neck submissively.

The Alpha stuffs himself back into his pants and heaves off the bed. “Heard complaints about you today. With your shitty performance just now I can see why. You owe me money,” his Claimer snarls before he stalks out of the room. His Claimer slams the door and Clint hears the familiar sound of a lock engaging from the outside.

Once he’s sure his Claimer has left, he limps over to the adjoined bathroom to clean himself up.

There’s no shower; only a toilet and sink. Water trickles from the rusty faucet and Clint struggles to wet a washcloth enough to clean the cum and blood from his hole. The rough cloth stings and he hisses as he clears away most of the mess. After he does up his pants, he hobbles back over to his bare mattress and gingerly lies down, bodily aches flaming as he curls up.

He doesn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep until the strong scent of an Alpha rouses him. He blinks his eyes open, lids crusty with sleep, to pinpoint where the smell might have been coming from.

His eyes widen when he notices an Alpha reclining in a sitting chair in the corner of the room. Clint hadn’t even heard the chair being brought in, let alone the Alpha settling in to watch him sleep. She seems a bit older than him, though he’s not exactly sure how old he is.

Her long legs are crossed under her dress and Clint can tell that she’s taller than him. On her lap rests a deep brown basket. Clint eyes the Alpha warily.

“I brought you a treat,” she says simply. Clint rolls over, and pushes himself onto his knees. Before he can lay his head against the mattress, and push down his dirty trousers, the Alpha snaps, “Stop.”

He pauses, thighs trembling with the effort to stay where he’s knelt over. “Get up,” she says and he scrambles to obey, sitting gingerly on his sore ass.

The Alpha’s face twists in fury, a nasty scowl on her face. “I said get up,” she hisses. He stands up shakily once he understands what she wants from him. Sharp pains dart from his hole up along his spine. He bites his lip to stifle any noise from escaping.

The Alpha places the basket on the ground then begins to circle Clint. He tilts his head to bear his throat, hoping she finds whatever she’s looking for in her perusal. Her hands are cold when she yanks down his pants. When she pauses in front of him, she still looks angry.

Then her hand is on his soft dick, rubbing her thumb against the head. “What do you need this for,” she murmurs. Clint tenses as the grip gets tighter. He swallows, feeling himself beginning to harden. She abruptly pulls away and goes back to her basket, rifling through until she makes a pleased sound.

When she straightens, she’s brandishing a knife and her hard cock tents her dress. Clint steps back, hands instinctively coming up to protect himself. The Alpha looks at him fiercely and he drops his arms back down again. Sweat forms underneath his threadbare shirt.

“Plea-”

“Shut the fuck up,” she snaps. She waves the knife around, “Take your clothes off.”

Clint hesitates. She snarls at him and he can only tremble, unable to get his body to work to obey her.

“Do you want me to fuck you with this? Shove it up your ass?” She says, pointing the knife at his face. Clint shakes his head, tears prickling in his eyes.

It’s never been like this and he’s _so_ sorry. He wishes he could tell his Claimer how sorry he is, how he’ll do better for the other Alphas. “Then get undressed.”

With trembling fingers, he obeys. His shirt floats to the ground beneath their feet, his bare and her’s in heels, and tries to focus on that as the knife reappears in his line of sight. “Present.”

Trembling, he turns away from her and begins to climb onto the bed. He’s yanked back forcibly and he almost loses his balance. “On the floor.”

He struggles to catch his breath once he’s positioned himself onto the hard ground. He can smell the Alpha, but can’t pinpoint exactly where she’d gone. He winces when her heels appear next to his head.

“I get one cut. Where will it be?” She says contemplatively. Clint swallows. She growls and more slick drips from his hole. “I asked you a question.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He feels the bottom of her shoe trace against his ass, lightly pushing against him, then she rears back and kicks him. He yelps.

She barely gives him time to recover before she’s dragging him by his arm over to the bed. She bends him over the edge, knees flat on the floor and chest flush against the mattress.

“I paid good money for you,” The Alpha growls. She traces the knife down his spine, too light to penetrate the skin. She settles behind him, rubbing against his bare ass. Her cock is wet with pre-cum. He can’t help it when he presses his hips further into the bed to escape her touch.

She places a hand on his hip to steady him and on the next breath she’s pushing into the rim of his entrance. He chokes out a gasp and she slides in and out languidly. The Alpha leans over and he feels the knife pressed against his neck.

“I could slit your fucking throat right now,” she growls, snapping her hips harder into him. Blind fear overtakes him, he has to stay alive. He has to live to see his pup, if only for a little while. He slightly pushes against her to ease her off him but her weight against his back holds him down.

“Tell me you don’t want to die,” she grunts, picking up speed.

“I don’t want to die,” he croaks, voice raspy with disuse. He can barely remember what his own voice sounds like. Her pace picks up, thrusts banging the bed against the wall.

“Say it again,” she says. He opens his mouth to beg her again, but the knife slips in her grip and nicks his wrist. “That doesn’t count,” she says roughly, thumbing the small slice on his wrist.

He doesn’t understand what she means at first and he’s thrown from thinking when she changes her angle, putting one leg on the bed beside him and sinking into his hole deeper. “Say it again,” she hisses.

“Please don’t kill me,” he rasps. She finishes quietly, hips stuttering as she spills into him. He freezes as a whimper escapes him but she ignores him as she pulls out. He stays where he is, even when she climbs off of him.

“Just one,” she’s muttering to herself. Clint gulps, wondering if he should beg again.

Gunshots ringing in the tense silence makes them both jump. There’s a cacophony of shouting and the explosion of returned gun fire. Heavy footfalls echo throughout the building. Clint can smell large Alphas stomping around, scents spiced with aggression.

The Alpha behind him curses roughly, and with hurried steps she leaves the room. Clint watches her go and grabs up his clothes. These Alphas are dangerous and armed. He dresses quickly and glances up.

An old air vent stares back at him above his bed. He never hoped, tried not to dream, but if any time was his chance, this is it. Many nights he had cursed the vent for pumping out musty cool air on the coldest of night. Now, he looks at the old vent and sees his salvation.

Fresh blood and cum drips down to his thighs but he barely notices. He’s unsteady on his feet as he stands on the bed to size up the vent. His arms shake as he grabs the cover.

With trembling fingers, he begins to twist the nails securing the cover into place. Luckily, the nails have degraded over time, and after a brief struggle with the rust, the vent cover disconnects.

Clint bounces out of the way as the cover drops, narrowly avoiding it falling on his bare toes. He sizes up the vent hole and decides that he’ll be able to fit through. All he needs to do is get into the vent.

His vision blurs as he bends his knees and jumps toward the opening. The tips of his fingers brush against the metal but he can’t get a firm grip and he falls backward.

Pure adrenaline pushes out his body’s aches and pains. He can barely hear the rapidly approaching steps over the blood roaring in his ears.

Clint grits his teeth as he pushes his shoulders through then falls back again. He quickly rights himself to try again. His heart rabbits out of his chest as the door knob to his room starts to jiggle. Soon the jiggling stops and something large bangs solidly into the wood.

He tries again, feeling lightheaded. He hoists himself into the vent just as the door to the bedroom splinters open. He gets on his belly to peer down the vent. Three Alphas stomp through the door, guns raised. One of the Alphas presses a finger to his ear and says something clipped to seemingly no one. After a moment, he addresses the other Alphas in the room and flicks his finger toward the door.

Two of them check the hallway before marching out of the bedroom. The last Alpha lingers for a moment and Clint worries he’s been caught. But not too long after the Alpha follows them out, leaving the door ajar from where they’d shoved it in.

Clint shakily breathes out and risks the chance to move forward. The vent is quieter than expected, a light flow of air numbing his senses. He army crawls, finding a rhythm to gain ground away from his room.

The trip is hard.

Clint can’t see in front of him and he has no idea if he’s moving further away from danger or right into the Alphas’ grasp. He continues onward, pushing past the exhaustion he feels. At this point, he’s so hungry he’s nauseated and he fights to keep bile down. As he continues in his journey, he worries he’s going to lose his pup.

He continues on his crawl, drenched with sweat, until the air current weakens. He reaches a dead end and knows he has no choice but to leave the vent.

He takes a fortifying breath and drops down. And just like that, he’s outside for the first time in years.

Elation grips him, dashing away his exhaustion for a split second as he looks around the alleyway he’s fallen into. The nighttime air is crisp with bitter cold and rain. He shivers as the icy droplets nip at his skin. A relieved smile stretches his face as he continues forward.

He’s free.

He moves quickly, as far away from where his Claimer had held him. He follows back roads, being sure not to take too many turns in the same direction.

Clint keeps his head down, worried that he’ll out himself to someone who’ll return him to the Alphas or his Claimer. He can barely breathe as he makes it to another alleyway.

Discreetly, he tries to collect some of the pouring rain in his hand to rub at his soiled ass and thighs. The worst of the crusted blood and cum are wiped away after a moment and he sits against a reeking dumpster.

As the adrenaline wears off, the hunger pains come back full force and he feels his vision blur. He blinks tiredly at the dumpster and his stomach rolls. But he needs food for his pup. Mind made up, he uses all the strength he can muster to look through the garbage.

After rifling through for a couple minutes, Clint finds an apple starting to rot in the trash. He rubs it on his shirt and bites into it greedily. It's the most disgusting and wonderful thing he’s tasted in his entire life. He finishes quickly, and drops it back into the trash can.

The alleyway seems just as good as any to rest. He curls up beside the dumpster, and despite the smell and solid ground, he falls asleep within seconds.

***

He continues this way for over a week; hiding in places less traveled. Each dumpster he encounters carries important items he needs. He finds shoes, and though they are a bit too small, they help protect his feet from broken glass and blisters from extended days of walking.

In another dumpster, he unearths a large hooded sweater. Not only does it protect him from the cold but one day, he figures, he can use it to conceal his belly.

Occasionally, someone will drop a few coins by his feet. He flinches away each time, unable to smell the designation of the strangers. He swipes up the money and pockets it once they’ve left.

The treasures stop when a forest of trees surround his path. He puts a hand on his belly with a gulp and goes toward the unknown. Clint hurries through the woodland, an eerie feeling that predators are watching him nips at his heels.

The bottoms of his pants snag on the jutting thicket. The pain doesn’t bother him, because he knows with every branch that snatches him and every bug that bites him, he’s further away from his Claimer.

A full day has passed before he stops. He curls up under a tree, the leaves above his head help protect him from the drizzling rain and the dirt is soft underneath him.

Still, he’s cold and bundles under the sweater as best he can. After trying for almost an hour, Clint can’t get to sleep. Instead, he spends the time resting his aching body.

He continues on before the sun can break across the tree line. He’s so hungry and thirsty he practically falls onto a shrub with ripe berries on it.

He sniffs at them first, to make sure they aren’t poisonous, but he doesn’t smell anything off about them. He bites into them and the juicy flesh tastes like ecstasy on his tongue.

He eats until he isn’t as parched, and his hunger is easier to ignore. The trees become few and farther in between as he reaches the other side of the woodland. He reaches the edge and his eyes widen at the view.

Buildings stretch across greenery, further apart than anything he’s seen before. Pure curiosity overtakes him as he walks through frosty grass. He scents the air. He’s never smelled anything like it, but doesn’t find it completely unpleasant.

There’s less places he can hide, but when he does find a discrete spot, he finds more food. He sleeps behind restaurants in the daylight and wanders in the night, hoping he’ll catch the attention of an Alpha who will Claim him.

He’s only gotten a few hours of sleep behind a restaurant that smells of warm bread when a cascade of water falls on him. He gasps as the water deepens the sharp chill on his skin. He blinks through the cool moisture to see an omega standing above him, bucket in hand.

“Sorry man, you can’t sleep here,” he actually does seem apologetic.

Clint shivers as he struggles to stand up. Teeth clattering, he attempts to speak but he doesn’t even know what he wants to say. The omega raises his hands placating manner, “Listen, I’ll pretend you aren’t here for a couple minutes. Anything else and my boss will kill me.”

He understands. Though ‘Boss’ is a weird way to refer to your Claimer, he knows the ramifications of ignoring an Alpha’s request.

He nods solemnly, hoping silently that the omega won’t be punished anyway. He decides not to take the minutes he’s been allotted and rushes away. He’s exhausted and almost stumbles down the sidewalk. People shoot him weird looks and avoid him.

The night falls without much success in finding a new Claimer. He wraps his arms around himself as he walks down the dimly lit sidewalk, keeping an eye out for a potential place to sleep.

“Hey!” Clint startles as an Alpha shouts at him from across the street. He’s far away, but Clint can still see the hungry look on the Alpha’s face. He swallows down his panic.

Maybe this is just what he was looking for. The Alpha crosses the road without bothering to look out for traffic. He’s older than his previous Claimer, grey beginning to overtake his brown hair. “What’s your name?”

Clint clams up, words caught in his throat. Finding another Claimer seemed a lot easier in his head. The Alpha is oblivious to Clint’s brain short circuiting. “Need someone to warm you up?” The Alpha crowds into his space with a leer. After a pause, Clint carefully nods his head.

His wrist is caught in a steel grip, presumably to drag him down the street. He shivers, not entirely from the cold, and knows he looks more reluctant than eager. As he’s pulled along the sidewalk, he hopes the Alpha doesn’t notice.

He stumbles when the fingers are violently snatched away from his wrist.

“What’s your problem, pal?” A huge Alpha pushes himself between Clint and his potential Claimer. The Alpha’s broad frame shields Clint from view; his blond hair practically bristled in fury.

His hands are clenched into fists, as if preparing for a fight. It’s entirely possible that they would both mount him.

Clint looks down at his tattered shoes, dirtied and worn from his travels. The Alpha in front of him growls, low and dangerous. Whatever expression he’s adopted is enough to make the older Alpha shuffle away.

“You okay?” The Alpha says, turning around to look over Clint’s body. Instead of answering, Clint tilts his head to bare his throat in submission. He knows he should probably present too but he’d need to pull his pants down for that and it’s so cold.

He hopes this Alpha will grant him this one mercy.

***

Steve curses himself for letting his temper get the best of him. The man cowering in front of him has obviously seen some rough times. The man’s distinction is omega and the grime and fear emanating from his body sends bile up Steve’s throat.

The dangerously skinny man is making himself small. Debris and dirt mat his hair to the extent that Steve can’t make out it’s natural color. The man’s clothes fall apart as wear & tear unravels the fabric into holes. The shoes on the man’s feet are barely holding together.

Above all, the way the stranger bares his neck, fearful and anticipatory, almost makes Steve retch.

“You alright?” He tries again, protective instincts pushing into the forefront of his mind. The man doesn’t move, and tenses more. Steve puts distance between them. “Can I take you to the hospital?”

The man springs to life and vehemently shakes his head. Steve sighs and the man flinches. Clearly getting nowhere fast, he changes course.

“Listen, I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here like this. How about you crash at my place? Til you get back on your feet” This time the man looks up at him in shock before his eyes dart back down. He nods.

Satisfied, Steve gestures for the man to follow him. “My names Ste-”

He stops talking abruptly when he realizes the man isn’t walking beside him. For a moment, he thinks he’s been ditched and his chest squeezes. The man really looked like he needed some help and Steve aches with the need to offer what he can.

But the man is just walking behind him. Steve clenches his jaw, mad at himself for taking such fast and wide steps when the man is clearly exhausted and injured. Steve slows down for the stranger to catch up but he doesn’t.

Instead, the man slows his steps more to stay behind Steve. For once, Steve knows when to pick his battles. He continues on with a slight clearing of his throat.

“My name’s Steve, my house isn’t far from here. It’s just me and my partner.”

“Clint,” the man mumbles. Steve puts on his kindest smile.

“Nice to meet you Clint.” The rest of the walk is, unsurprisingly, passed in silence.

“We’re here,” Steve says, walking up the stairs to his home.

Clint follows, staring at the Alpha’s back to reign in his reaction at the large white-grey house. Flowers and plants line the short walkway to the front door, an earthly scent that helps calm Clint’s nerves.

The Alpha unlocks the door and warmth chases away the frost surrounding his skin. He shuts his eyes as he steps into the heated living room. It’s as big as the outside of the house had made it seem.

He looks silently when Alpha Steve cuts on the light. The first thing he notices is how clean the room is. The carpet is free of stains, and tatters. A light blue, patterned rug is thrown atop the carpet in front of a huge flat screen T.V. Clint thinks the furniture placed around the expansive room is gorgeous.

Clint shifts uncomfortably. He knows he’s not much to look at and he knows he’s dirty and he smells. He breathes in, calming himself enough to apologize to Alpha Steve for tainting such beautiful surroundings.

The words get knocked back into his throat at the sound of an Alpha growling.

The rumbling isn’t coming out of Alpha Steve’s mouth. Blind fear overtakes him; Alpha Steve is large but this Alpha’s growl sounds like it's coming from a giant. He didn’t even notice this Alpha. Now that he isn’t distracted by the beautiful room, he can smell the large Alpha from the couch.

It all starts to make sense to him. Steve will mate him and this other Alpha will punish him. For a split second, he wonders if he should assure them he’ll behave but he doesn’t, because that’s never done any good before.

“Bucky, wake up,” Alpha Steve says sternly. Clint keeps his distance and peeks at the solid lump under a blanket.

The mound shifts with a snort and an Alpha’s head appears out of the covers. Clint can’t help but step back once more as the Alpha, with long brown hair and a 5 o’ clock shadow, blinks up at Alpha Steve with a scowl.

Then the Alpha’s nose wrinkles once and he snaps his head toward Clint. Clint tenses as the Alpha’s steel blue eyes paralyze him.

“Who are you?” the Alpha rasps. Before Clint can respond the Alpha looks back over to Alpha Steve.

“Who is this?” his voice is pitched lower, sounding dangerous to Clint’s ears. Alpha Steve gives the Alpha a long suffering look and kicks him, though the impact doesn’t look hard at all.

“Show some manners,” Alpha Steve says.

“Bucky,” the Alpha gruffs after a moment. Alpha Steve rolls his eyes, and gestures at Alpha Bucky as if to say; Get a load of this guy.

“Always the comedian,” Alpha Bucky says sarcastically but his mouth softens. Alpha Steve laughs, looking over at Clint with mirth lighting his eyes. The omega avoids the eye contact, staring at the floor lest he ignite Alpha Bucky’s temper.

Alpha Steve’s laughter peters off and Clint risks glancing over. Alpha Bucky is on his feet now, sharing a look with Alpha Steve. They are both muscled and have quite a few inches on Clint.

Below Alpha Bucky’s brawny shoulders hangs a metal arm on the left hand side. Clint stomach drops as the arm gleams in the dim lighting. Clint will hurt even more than he expected when he’s punished.

If he had a choice, he would run away from them both. But there’s no guarantee that he’ll find anyone else willing to Claim him. Clint can endure, he always has, until he can be sure they would accept his pup.

“This is Clint,” Alpha Steve says. Alpha Bucky nods his head in general acknowledgement.

“Let’s get you settled in. Come on.” Clint follows Alpha Steve quietly, avoiding Alpha Bucky’s piercing stare. Alpha Steve leads Clint in front of a closed door and the omega swallows. This is it then.

“Sorry about Bucky,” the Alpha is saying with a chuckle, “he’s always grumpy when he first wakes up.”

Clint doesn’t laugh, unsure if he’s even supposed to, as Steve opens the door to a clean bedroom. Lilac accents stand stark against white walls, white furniture, and a thick white comforter.

The room itself has a mellow clean scent. Clint breathes in, hoping the room will help calm him once Alpha Steve takes his due.

The Alpha crouches to pick through a dresser. “We usually keep some spare clothes in here. We don’t get many guests, but it’s always good to stay prepared.” Alpha Steve stands with a bundle of clothing, a sheepish grin on his face.

He hasn’t done anything to earn clean clothes, at least not yet. Alpha Steve must be well aware, and will take the payment he’s owed soon.

Clint tentatively lifts the clothes out of the Alpha’s hold, heart hammering in his chest. Alpha Steve beams at him. The satisfaction on his face makes Clint’s stomach drop.

Alpha Steve moves away and begins chattering away again. Clint can barely hear him over the rushing in his ears. He chides himself. He knows how this goes. He can handle it.

But. He’s enjoyed the time he’s spent without being touched, without an Alpha striking him, without an Alpha fucking him.

The taste of freedom was sweet, but his priorities have shifted. Careful to avoid spreading a palm across his belly, he steels himself.

Clint zones back in when he hears Alpha Steve saying, “...just don’t use Bucky’s shampoo.” He smiles fondly with a shake of his head, “Don’t ask me why he thinks leaving them in here will hide them from me.”

Clint nods hurriedly. He won’t ask and he won’t take Alpha Bucky’s shampoo either. Alpha Steve stops smiling. The omega isn’t aroused, but he’s started to slick anyway in anticipation.

“I’ll let you get settled in.” Alpha Steve says abruptly before he exits the room, closing the door softly. Thankful for the brief respite, he empties his pockets of the coins he’s collected and hides them under the bed.

Entering the bathroom, he stuffs the bundle of clean clothing against a corner. He shucks off his own dirtied clothes and turns on the sink.

Quickly so he won’t get caught, he cups his hand under the flow and brings it to his mouth to slurp at the cool water.

He finds a washcloth and wets it. The drag of the fabric over his groin is a familiar feeling. Once done, Clint turns off the water and steps over the clean clothing Alpha Steve had given him. The omega makes quick work to strip the bed of it’s coverings.

He hasn’t even earned the clothing yet, let alone sheets.

The omega is careful to fold the fabric as neatly as he can before crawling, naked, onto the bare bed. He could sink right into the soft mattress and the warm air feels good on his exposed skin. He blinks a few times to make sure he stays awake. Clint lays onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.

He waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so thankful you stuck around til the end! I would love to hear what you think.
> 
> I also want to acknowledge how hard things are currently so it's my goal to have some words of encouragement each chapter!
> 
> Chapter 1 Encouragement: Never give up because good things take time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow oh WOW! I am blown away by the response to the first chapter! I really care about this story so I am glad other people like it! Your comments, kudos, and bookmarks really mean a lot. So thank you.
> 
> Standard warnings apply.

“Have you seen Clint today?” Steve says as he enters the kitchen after his mid-morning run. He lays his hand on the back of the chair Bucky sits in and drops a chaste kiss on the rat’s nest that is Bucky’s hair. The barely awake alpha grumbles, and takes a sip of his coffee.

Steve puts a hand on his hips, impatient. Eventually, Bucky sets the coffee down and sighs.

“The stray? Nope,” he says. Steve frowns at him.

“Don’t call him that.” he admonishes, “Look, I know it’s not our problem but-”

Bucky’s snickering cuts him off. Steve pouts at him. Bucky takes another sip of his coffee, the side of his lip curling, “No go on. Tell me how you’re going to make this our problem.”

“As I was _saying_ , I think he’s really hurt.” Steve says, crossing his arms.

“So take him to the hospital.”

“He wouldn’t let me.”

Bucky’s amusement dies and he stares down at his depleted mug, “so am I in charge of getting the clothes or the extra groceries?”

Steve grins and tilts Bucky’s head up for a kiss. Bucky responds in kind, not caring one bit that the other alpha is sweaty from his run.

“We can figure it out later. I’m gonna go freshen up. Can you check to see if Clint’s settling in ok?” Without waiting for a response, Steve makes his way to their shared bedroom. Bucky takes the time to finish his coffee first.

He approaches the door loudly, making his footfalls heavy enough for Clint to hear him coming. He seemed petrified last night, and Bucky isn’t willing to make it worse by being some random alpha appearing outside of his door. He knocks three times, using his right hand.

There’s no response. Part of Bucky just wants to say ‘fuck it’ and leave him be. But then he would have to deal with Steve’s kicked puppy look. He knocks again and the scent of fear floats from behind the door.

Bucky’s face drops. _Of course_ he’s left to wake up this stranger while he’s suffering from a nightmare. Hitting a little too close to home, he shuts the thoughts out and raps on the door again.

Clint startles at the sound of knocking. He smells Alpha Bucky, scent sharp with agitation. All night Clint had drifted, the anticipation of Alpha Steve’s return preventing him from a deep sleep.

Alpha Bucky must have decided to punish him after all. He’s unsure what he did, or didn’t do, but now he’ll pay for it.

He watches as the door handle turns excruciatingly slowly. He hurriedly puts his head back against the bed when Alpha Bucky steps in. Clint parts his legs more, hoping Alpha Bucky will fuck him before the beating begins. His body tends to ache more when he’s mounted after punishment.

Alpha Bucky makes a choking sound. Clint risks a glance. The Alpha steps back, metal hand thrown over his eyes.

“Fuck, sorry,” Alpha Bucky says. With his eyes still covered, the Alpha says, “Once you finish getting ready, come eat,” then he backs out of the room. As he leaves, Alpha Bucky stammers out, “and, uh, take a shower.”

The door closes harder than when Alpha Steve had closed it. Clint gulps. Maybe waiting is part of his punishment. His previous Claimer had done that countless times. At the end of the wait, he was left with enough bruises and welts on his exposed skin that he could barely walk.

Clint doesn’t know what ‘get ready’ means. Should he go to the kitchen naked? Should he finger open his hole? Though he knows the punishment will be severe, he decides to forgo that part of his orders and just take a shower.

Clint heaves himself out of the bed and shuffles into the adjoined bathroom. In his hurry to obey, he almost trips over the clothes Alpha Steve gave him.

He catches himself, and turns on the shower. Droplets mist Clint’s face as water cascades out of the shower head. He steps in, and looks up in wonder when the water warms. He leans forward, feeling the hot water splatter against his head. Clint lets out a contented sigh.

Each droplet loosens the tension in his shoulders and jaw. The water runs brown beneath his aching feet and his skin tingles as the grime sloughs off his body. His cracked and blistered feet sting but he doesn’t mind.

His belly has started to swell, a barely discernible pouch on his lower stomach. He gently rubs at it, a fierce love and protectiveness overtaking him. Against his better judgement, he feels a spark of hope flicker.

They’ve locked him in a room, much like his previous Claimer had, and even told him to expect to be hurt. That means they’ll keep him, at least for a little while. He reminds himself to be patient. It’s hard to see his stomach now, but as it grows he will need to be more careful with concealing it.

He scrubs at his hair, avoiding even looking at the bottles that have BUCKY written across them. He does find a sliver of soap and rubs it against the last of the dirt clinging to his skin.

Suddenly, it hits him that he has no idea how long he’s been in the shower. How long he’s wasted the Alpha’s water. How long he’s hidden from punishment. He steps out of the shower in a panic. It’s a wonder why Alpha Bucky or Alpha Steve haven’t dragged him out of the bathroom already. He winces at the phantom pain of all the times he’s been pulled across the floor by his hair.

Clint doesn’t bother to dry off. He quickly dresses himself in the clothes Alpha Steve gave him and runs toward the bedroom door. He hesitates as he grips the handle. Alpha Bucky ordered Clint to come to him but leaving the room, when he’s been placed there, feels wrong.

Clint cringes at the thought that Alpha Steve doesn’t know he’s been told to leave the room. Either way, it’s likely they will both deliver his long overdue punishment. Clint forces himself through the door and eases down the hall.

“Oh, there you are,” Alpha Steve smiles at the omega when he tentatively enters the kitchen. Alpha Bucky has his back turned, leaning into the fridge. He doesn’t smell angry anymore, but scents can be deceiving. Alpha Bucky straightens and turns around with a red box in each hand.

“Fried rice or lo mein?” he asks. After a moment, Clint realizes the Alpha is talking to him. His stomach grumbles.

“Rice,” he says after a moment. Alpha Bucky wordlessly hands it to Alpha Steve who pops it in the microwave.

As it warms Alpha Steve says, “How’d you sleep?”

Clint tenses when Alpha Bucky makes that choking noise again before he leaves the room. Alpha Steve quirks an eyebrow at his back before directing his attention back at the omega.

“Good, thank you,” he nods his head hurriedly. He can’t truly express his gratitude for being able to rest on the soft bed. Alpha Steve's smile turns tight as he plates the rice. Clint salivates. The scent wafting from the plate smells heavenly.

Alpha Steve gestures toward the table with one hand, the plate in another.

Clint approaches the table and bends over against it. His hands tremble as he braces them on the smooth wood. The surface is cool against the side of his face, and he shuts his eyes. He tenses when he smells Alpha Steve approach but forces himself to unclench his muscles.

This is a good thing, he thinks. It will finally begin. He lifts his hips further in the air when he feels Alpha Steve place a hand against his shoulder.

But instead of pressing Clint into the wood further, Alpha Steve gently pulls him back into a standing position. Clint swallows against the lump in his throat.

“It would probably be easier to sit while you eat.” Alpha Steve says as if nothing happened. “But if you rather stand that’s fine too.”

Clint sits.

The plate of rice, utensils, and a cup are all placed in front of him. To Clint’s surprise, the rice on his plate is brown and loaded with vegetables. He scoops up some of the rice with a spoon. He glances at Alpha Steve to make sure it’s ok but the Alpha isn’t even looking at him.

As Alpha Steve wipes down the counters, Clint shoves the spoonful into his mouth. His meal is delicious, far from bland, and the rice isn’t mushy. The collection of vegetables crunch delightfully as he chews.

He can barely control himself as he shovels the food into his mouth. The room disappears as he focuses solely on the meal before him. He’s never tasted anything quite like this. Not before he’s been captured or during his time with his previous Claimer. He finishes quickly and chases his lunch down with a gulp of cold water.

“Are you still hungry? Do you want some more?” Alpha Steve says, breaking him out of his single minded focus. He jumps slightly and shakes his head, not willing to test his luck. “How about some dessert?”

Alpha Steve’s asked multiple times, obviously waiting for him to agree. His mouth goes dry. He’s already so far in debt, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to crawl out of it. Alpha Steve’s looking at him with a slight smile on his face, expectant. Knowing he has no choice, Clint nods once.

“How about some brownies?” Alpha Steve says.

“Ok,” Clint says softly. Alpha Steve beams at him and reaches into the breadbox to put a few brownies on a plate. He covers them with a plastic container. Clint can catch the scent before Alpha Steve pops them in the microwave and presses a button. The treat smells delicious and his stomach grumbles. He freezes, hoping Alpha Steve didn’t hear the evidence that he had lied.

“Buck actually made these, but I’m the master at using the microwave,” Alpha Steve winks at him, chuckling slightly. Clint fixates on the plate of brownies circling within the microwave. He doesn’t truly believe Alpha Steve will allow him to eat some, but the thought of it is satisfying enough.

Alpha Steve places the steaming brownies in front of Clint. With trembling fingers, the omega grabs one of the brownies and holds it out for Alpha Steve to have. Alpha Steve doesn’t take it from him, instead steps away from the table.

“Those are yours,” he says. Clint retracts his hand and puts the treat back on his plate. The first bite tastes even better than the rice. He takes his time savoring the flavor.

“Are we watchin’ the movie or not?” Alpha Bucky re-enters the kitchen. When he notices the plate of steaming brownies, his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.

“You microwaved those,” Alpha Bucky says, as if the world is ending.

“Yep,” Alpha Steve says, a grin spreading across his face. Clint drops the brownie and tries to appear small. He’s been tricked by Alpha Steve and now he’ll pay for it. Unable to help it, he locks onto Alpha Bucky’s metal arm.

“They get tough when you do that,” Alpha Bucky hisses and it sounds like they’d had this conversation before.

“They taste delicious,” Alpha Steve says airily. Clint silently agrees.

Alpha Bucky rolls his eyes then turns to Clint, “You like horror films?”

Clint nods his head to appease him, completely lost. Alpha Bucky rounds on the other Alpha with a smirk.

“See? Clint knows good media. You’re not getting out of this pal.”

An amused smile curves Alpha Steve’s lips.

“Worth a try,” he shrugs then follows the other Alpha out of the kitchen. Taking the hint, Clint gets up and places his dirty dishes in the sink.

***

Both Alpha’s look over at him as he enters the dimmed living room. They are cuddled up on the couch, Alpha Steve leaning on Alpha Bucky’s chest.

Shock sends Clint out of his skin. He blinks once, twice, but the Alphas are still wrapped up in the embrace. Clint schools his features and sits down on the plush chair beside the couch.

“Finally,” Bucky grumbles. Clint keeps his eyes forward on the frozen screen. Ignoring the two Alphas becomes easier when the screen jumps to life.

Clint has never thought dull colors could look so beautiful. He leans forward, entranced as the movie begins.

Almost immediately, he hears Alpha Steve yelp as a fake looking ghost darts across the screen. Clint’s careful not to react lest the Alpha thinks he’s making fun of him.

Clint’s neck begins to hurt from holding it still for so long. He discreetly rolls his head back and forth to alleviate some of the pain.

About 30 minutes in, Alpha Bucky lets out a loud bark of laughter. Clint jumps at the abrupt sound and glances over.

“Jesus _Christ_ this movie is shit,” he chuckles again in complete juxtaposition to Alpha Steve’s frightened expression. Clint finds himself agreeing with Alpha Bucky. After the initial joy of being able to watch a movie passed, he had similar thoughts.

A shy smile overtakes his face and he can’t help but look over to Alpha Bucky. The Alpha doesn’t seem mad at him, instead returns a smirk.

Clint untenses slightly at the open expression devoid of any disdain. Alpha Steve’s eyes are wide with fear, his mouth slightly parted as he stares at the screen.

Though amused, Alpha Bucky tightens his hold on Alpha Steve in quiet comfort.

Once Clint notices that, he can’t _stop_ noticing. He tries to refocus on the movie but his eyes keep darting over to the Alphas.

They both seem tied up in the movie, though they are obviously having two different experiences watching it.

A few minutes go by until he can’t help but look again. He’s never seen such affection in anyone let alone two _Alphas_.

Neither of them have Claimed the other and yet they are playing out Clint’s fantasy right before his eyes.

Alpha Bucky lazily cards his flesh hand through Alpha’s Steve’s hair as they watch the film.

He tries to glue his eyes to the screen but the movie _is_ bad. Curiosity getting the best of him, he glances over again.

Alpha Bucky glares back. Clint’s blood runs cold and his eyes skitter away.

“You got a problem?” Alpha Bucky demands.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Alpha Steve says sleepily, having started to find the movie boring too. Alpha Bucky ignores him.

“Wanna stay here? Better wisen up quick. Ain’t nothing wrong with two Alphas,” Alpha Bucky growls. Alpha Steve frowns. Clint shakes his head rapidly.

“I’ve just never seen-” he begins quietly. Alpha Bucky cut him off.

“Seen an Alpha couple before?” he growls. Clint knows the hole he’s dug can’t get much deeper so he nods then quieter says;

“The.. hug,” he stammers through, “that’s, I’ve never-” he cuts himself off as both Alpha’s expressions change,“I’ve never seen that..,” he stammers over the words and attempts to mime with his arms, “before.”

Alpha Bucky’s face shutters and Alpha Steve looks at Clint with a look he’s never seen before, but can’t spell anything good. Clint flinches as they unfold from each other. Alpha Bucky stands up and makes to leave.

Clint wonders if he’s grabbing a belt. Would he use it on Clint or allow the omega to bite down on it as he endures his punishment? Though he’s already been called out for staring, he can’t help but give a lingering look to Alpha Bucky’s metal arm.

He looks toward the floor and bares his neck. He knows it won’t help at this point but he wants them to see how sorry he is.

“Do you want one,” Alpha Steve blurts out, awkward in the heavy silence. Uncomprehending, Clint stares somewhere below Alpha Steve’s eyes. Then it clicks. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. Could Alpha Steve mean it? He dares to lift his head slightly, but immediately looks back down after making eye contact. The Alpha has a gentle smile on his face. Clint’s eyes widen, careful not to get too hopeful. He may have found his next Claimer. Someone who will hug him before he’s punished.

“It’s ok if you don’t,” Alpha Steve stammers out and Clint realizes the Alpha has been waiting for a response longer than what is appropriate. Tentative joy cradles his heart as he nods.

Clint flinches instinctively when Alpha Steve’s legs appear in front of him, having not heard the Alpha’s approach. Alpha Steve sits on his haunches, right in Clint’s sightline. The omega has no choice but to look at him.

After a long moment, so long that Clint thinks he may have been tricked, Alpha Steve hugs him.

The omega melts into the embrace. He could disappear in the strong arms, Alpha Steve’s scent relaxing him. The impending punishment is worth the feeling of being cradled against Alpha Steve’s broad chest.

Clint aches when the Alpha pulls away, the feeling of loss bone deep. Alpha Steve stands.

“Let’s make a list.” he says, sounding determined. Clint tilts his head up at him. Alpha Steve looks excited, “we’ll write down a list of everything you haven’t done before. Things that you want to try, then work on ‘em while you get back on your feet.”

“Ok,” Clint says, if only just to keep Alpha Steve smiling at him that way. Alpha Steve doesn’t disappoint, beaming down at the omega. Clint looks away, feeling shy. He can hear the Alpha move away but he doesn’t lift his head until he hears a door shut.

The omega glaces up to look around the empty room. Alpha Bucky is still nowhere to be seen. Clint’s stomach sinks. Alpha Steve may Claim him, but Alpha Bucky barely tolerates him. One wrong move and Alpha Bucky will send him packing. Clint knows better than to think Alpha Steve would defend him.

His lack of punishment is starting to make awful sense. Alpha Bucky is keeping count of every time Clint should’ve given payments, all the times he’s disobeyed, and waiting until he has enough evidence to send the omega away.

He can see it clearly in his mind’s eye; Alpha Bucky recounts all of Clint’s mistakes to Alpha Steve. He’ll look disappointed, maybe even a little sad, but will ultimately agree with Alpha Bucky that Clint has no place here. He’ll get punished, that he knows, for wasting their time and being a useless omega.

Stomach rolling from fear induced nausea, he rushes to his assigned bathroom. Clint throws himself toward the toilet and retches. His chest heaves as his lunch leaves him. Once he’s sure it’s through, he straightens and flushes the toilet.

He avoids looking at himself in the mirror as he cleans out his mouth with tap water. Realizing his bladder is fit to bursting, he takes care of his business before leaving the bathroom.

The omega hesitates at the bedroom door. He’s left it open in his rush to get to the bathroom and no one’s closed it after him. He steps through cautiously, and continues on when neither Alpha pounce on him and drag him back into the room.

He hears Alpha Bucky and Alpha Steve talking softly. They aren’t in the living room, nor the kitchen.

Clint retraces his steps to go wait in the bedroom but then catches a muffled conversation coming from behind a closed door he hasn’t entered before.

“ _-fucked up._ ” Alpha Bucky is saying in a hushed whisper

“ _You know...you?_ ” Alpha Steve’s words are even less coherent. Clint creeps away before he can get caught eavesdropping.

Clint sits at the kitchen table. He can feel hunger pains beneath the nausea, having thrown up everything he’d eaten before. He draws circles with his fingers on the wooden top to occupy himself.

He’d never ask for food, he knows better, but he’s hoping that they’ll feel inclined to feed him if he’s already at the table.

He smells more than hears Alpha Steve and Alpha Bucky come in. Clint keeps his head down.

A piece of paper and marker are placed in his sight line. The lined paper has ~~1\. Hug~~ on the top. The rest of the sheet is blank.

“Speaking of lists,” Alpha Steve says, “what do you want from the grocery store?”

Clint tenses at the obvious test. He’s been presumptuous, and now Alpha Steve must remind him that the Alphas decide what food he eats and when he gets it. He immediately shakes his head and pushes himself away from the table.

“Nothing!” The omega hurries to say. Alpha Steve opens his mouth to speak but Alpha Bucky beats him to it.

“Don’t think they sell that,” he smirks. A moment passes in silence.

Clint begins to sweat as he responds tentatively, "Bread?"

He’s always been given bread, oftentimes stale, during his meal times. Alpha Bucky opens his mouth but Alpha Steve bulldozes over his response with an appreciative noise.

“I could go for a sandwich,” he says brightly. Then he looks down at his watch, “shoot! I need to get ready!”

Alpha Steve hightails it out of the kitchen, leaving Clint alone with Alpha Bucky. The omega looks at the floor, wondering if he should present.

Alpha Bucky is wound tight, muscles tensing as he rearranges a cabinet of spices. His entire body language screams ‘Leave me alone’.

Clint avoids looking at him and raises the pen to the sheet of paper. He pauses, waiting to see what Alpha Bucky will do. The Alpha is disinterested, poking through cabinets and drawers.

Heart hammering in his chest, he carefully scribbles on the paper. Alpha Bucky glances over at the sound and walks over in curiosity.

Clint, terrified, resists the urge to cover the words. Or even worse, rip up the paper. Instead he waits as Alpha Bucky looks over the paper where he’s written; “ _low mane_ ”.

Alpha Bucky holds out his palm for the pen. Wordlessly, the omega hands it over. Clint watches in longing as the Alpha squiggles over what he’s written.

Devastated but not surprised, he braces himself for the Alpha to strike him. Instead, Alpha Bucky writes beside Clint’s handwriting, “ _lo mein_ ”.

“If you were hungry, you could’ve just gotten something to eat.” Alpha Bucky says, though he’s already making a plate for Clint. The omega nods, hoping Alpha Bucky can see he can listen, that he can obey.

After he gives Clint the plate, Alpha Bucky sits on the other side of the table with a muffin. The omega keeps his eyes on the food. Somehow, it tastes even better than the rice. He doesn’t mind the silence that stretches between them.

Alpha Steve comes breezing in. Clint recoils at the strong cologne emanating from the Alpha. Suddenly, he’s confined in four walls again. Hard springs dig into his back as an Alpha, scent stinking with harsh cologne, pushes him into the soiled mattress.

Two fingers snap in front of his face, and he jumps out of his skin and the memory.

“Lost you there for a second,” Alpha Steve looks concerned but not angry. Clint flinches away.

Clint fidgets in the dense silence that follows. After a few moments, Alpha Bucky clears his throat and stands up.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he says.

“Get bacon!” Alpha Steve calls to him.

“Yea, yea.”

Once he’s gone, Alpha Steve gives Clint his full attention.

“I can take a rain check if you need me to stay. My friends will understand,” the Alpha says.

Eyes wide, Clint shakes his head. There’s no way he would interrupt Alpha Steve’s plans. The Alpha hesitates.

“If you’re sure..” Alpha Steve trails off as if Clint is going to change his mind. Seeing no objection, Alpha Steve rips a piece off the lined paper.

“Alright well if you need me...” he writes down his number. Alpha Steve suddenly looks uncomfortable.

“And uh, don’t steal from us? Not that I think you would but I mean...,” Alpha Steve stammers out. Awkward, he rubs his hand on the back of his head.

“I wont. I promise,” Clint wouldn’t _dream_ of it. He silently thanks Alpha Steve to warn him of what he’d be punished for if he’s bad.

Alpha Steve makes an aborted motion toward Clint then steps away. Part of the omega aches for the contact, but doesn’t test his luck by asking.

With one last lingering look, Alpha Steve leaves.

Clint hears the sound of his pounding heart echo in the empty house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it to the end! Yay thank you! 
> 
> I hope to have the 3rd chapter up sometime next week!
> 
> Inspiration for the chapter: “Talk to yourself like you would to someone you love.” - Brené Brown


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading wow!

The first thing Clint does is check on his stash of money. To his surprise, the coins are right where he left them. He isn’t sure exactly how much he has, but hopes it’s enough to buy food for his pup. If he’s kicked out, proves he’s not a good omega, then he wants to at least be able to keep his pup healthy. 

The omega sits down heavily on the bare mattress in contemplation. He wants to make himself useful in the Alpha’s absence.

He sets about cleaning the kitchen. There are dirtied dishes left in the sink, including the brownies he haphazardly threw into it, and a few crumbs on the table. Alpha Steve’s number and the list sit untouched on the table. 

Clint cleans up carefully. Breaking the fragile glasses and porcelain plate is not an option. He places the clean dishes in a plastic rack to dry. Then he tackles the table, scrubbing over the bits of food stuck to the solid surface. 

Clint knows it's not much, but it helps him feel more settled in the Alphas’ home.

He relocates to the living room once he’s done. The room doesn’t really need cleaning so he racks his brain for something else to do that will please the Alphas. His stomach swoops when he hears the sound of dripping water. 

Clint grimaces and rushes back into the kitchen. He needs to pay attention before he destroys the house beyond repair. He thought he had turned the faucet off, could have sworn by it, but instead he’d been careless. 

The sink _is_ turned off when he enters the kitchen. He looks around the room to see if there’s any other water source. The only option is the cabinet underneath the sink. He stares at the wooden door in dread, but the more time he spends panicking, the more time water will have to flow from the sink. 

He throws open the doors and a steady leak runs from the pipe. Clint swallows and hops into action mode. The sink he used when he was with his previous Claimer had leaked often. Luckily, some tools had been left around so the omega had gotten quite good at fixing it. 

He hesitates, not entirely willing to poke around the Alpha’s home without their permission. But, he figures, if he locates the tools quickly, fixes the sink and then puts everything back from where they came, Alpha Bucky and Alpha Steve would be none of the wiser. 

Adrenaline pumping from his boldness, he searches places in the home that may have what he needs. He locates a toolkit in the front closet and lifts what he knows will fix his mistake, careful not to disturb the steel box from where it lay. He swallows. He’s stolen from them, even though Alpha Steve warned him against it. He imagines his punishment for stealing and then the punishment for breaking the sink. 

Both are equally as harrowing, and he figures it’s too late to make a choice. If they happen to notice he’s disturbed the toolbox, he deserves the punishment he receives. 

He has no choice but to work slowly, wanting to avoid any irreparable mistakes. The water slips down his hands as he tightens the metal wrapped around the white pipe. The angle makes it hard for him to keep a steady work flow, and his back is screaming at him. When he finishes, he returns the tools with a sigh of relief. 

Clint perches on the edge of the living room couch and sniffles at the lingering Alpha scents. He takes a deep inhale. In case his time is short here, he wants to remember that he had a clean place to stay, with two strong Alphas that fed him and let him watch a movie. 

The thought calms him. 

He picks up the remote Alpha Bucky had used to start the movie. He thinks about the hug Alpha Steve had given him during the viewing and wonders if rewatching the movie will recreate the feeling. 

He presses down on a button to get it started but instead the screen goes black. Panicked, he presses a different button. Still black. Sweat breaks out on his brow; because he was selfish, he broke the Alphas’ T.V. He swallows and tries the button once again. 

Clint jumps as the screen explodes with color and sound. He doesn’t recognize it as the movie they had watched, but too scared to try again, he leaves it on. 

Barking dogs bound through grass and shrubbery, chasing down something unseen. The scene changes and someone called Sgt. Whiskers, a small kitten, gives the dogs quite the dressing down.

It’s easy for him to get into the plot and he’s left wanting for more when the episode ends. His disappointment goes away quickly when another episode starts up. A small smile takes over his face, and he settles in once more. 

He’s a few episodes in when the front door opens. He startles severely, unthinkingly throwing the remote across the room to hide what he’s done. It smacks against the wall and falls to the ground with a clatter. 

He can barely breathe when Alpha Bucky comes in, plastic bags on each arm. His eyebrows shoot up as he looks at Clint, then the tv, then the fallen remote, then back at Clint. 

The omega’s fingers tremble as he plays with a string on his shirt. He’s never even attempted something like this with his previous Claimer. He’d never even had access to a T.V. before. He doesn’t want to imagine the punishment he’ll need to endure for this. He hopes the remote isn’t broken beyond repair. 

After a nod, Alpha Bucky continues into the kitchen. Clint follows like a puppy with it’s tail between its legs. 

Clint swallows from behind Alpha Bucky’s back. The winter coat the Alpha wears does little to hide his muscled shoulders as he puts down the plastic bags and begins putting it away. Clint eyes the food and wonders when he’ll next be allowed to eat. 

“Oh hey!” The omega leaps a foot in the air at Alpha Bucky’s exclamation. Alpha Bucky has a smile on his face, “You fixed the sink?” 

Clint goes pale. He thought his plan had been perfect, that he’d gotten away with fixing his mistake. Apparently not. 

“That’s been bothering me for months, thanks man,” Alpha Bucky says.

Clint’s eyes widen at Alpha Bucky’s warm words. The omega feels on cloud nine at having pleased the Alpha. The feeling persists as Alpha Bucky continues to put the groceries where they belong. 

“Didn’t add anything to your list yet?” Alpha Bucky says casually. The omega’s stomach swoops. He’s failed to do what he’d been told. There’s no way around it either. The list is very obviously blank of any new entries. There’s no point in denying it, even though he wouldn’t, so he nods his head once. 

Clint tenses but Alpha Bucky doesn’t move any closer. 

“Might wanna put some things on there. When Steve gets an idea, he can be… stubborn.” Alpha Bucky huffs out a laugh. Clint holds his breath, waiting to be punished for his disobedience. 

“Can you finish putting this away?” Alpha Bucky says. Clint practically rips the bag in his hurry to do as he’s told. Alpha Bucky gives him a look before he leaves the omega to it. 

Clint tries not to linger on the food items as he stashes them in cabinets. A part of him is relieved that the punishment has finally begun. Alpha Bucky wants him to look at the food he won’t give him, to see what he’s lost because he hadn’t behaved. The omega holds onto a cereal box longer than necessary. Colorful shapes branded on the cardboard stare back at him. 

He salivates. For a split second, his hand inches toward the top. 

“Got you something,” Alpha Bucky says from behind him. Clint throws his entire body into catching the cereal box before it can fall out of his panicked grasp. Caught out, he turns around. The Alpha has a large felt bag in his hand. 

“Thank you,” he says quickly. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Alpha Bucky grumbles, his face slightly red. He offers the felt bag to Clint and after a slight hesitation, the omega takes it. The fabric is delightfully soft under his palm. He looks up to give thanks again but he stops at the pinched expression the Alpha wears.

“Open it,” Alpha Bucky says. Only then does Clint notice that there’s a drawstring on the side of the bag. He does as instructed and a deep purple blanket tumbles out. 

Clint draws in a gasp. As any omega, he’s had nesting instincts, particularly during his heats. He’d always yearned for coverings to bundle up in, even on his off cycles. He had gotten creative in his times of captivity, pulling his arms from the holes on his shirt and wrapping them around his torso. It never worked. 

Alpha Bucky clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. Clint jumps into the present. 

“You don’t have to use it,” the Alpha says, redness lighting the tips of his ears. 

“This is mine?” Clint’s voice is soft, breathless. Alpha Bucky starts grabbing up the empty grocery bags, avoiding looking at the omega. 

“Yea, sure.” he says. 

Clint rubs the fabric once more. He’s not normally rewarded before punishment, when he’s rewarded at all, but these Alphas seem to do things much differently than his previous Claimer. The punishment will be ok, he thinks, if he can lay on this blanket afterward. 

Comforted with the thought, he doesn’t even flinch when Alpha Bucky reaches toward the table and fingers the strip of paper with Alpha Steve’s number on it. The Alpha huffs out a laugh.

“Do you even have a phone?” he says. Clint shakes his head. Alpha Bucky rolls his eyes, “well meaning idiot.” 

The omega’s careful not to react. 

“Well,” Alpha Bucky rubs at his temples with a wince, “I’m gonna go lay down.” 

Clint knows an order when he hears one. He follows Alpha Bucky to pay for the blanket.

They’re halfway down the hall when the Alpha stops abruptly. Clint digs his heels in so he doesn’t bump into him. 

Alpha Bucky looks over his shoulder, he looks as confused as Clint feels. 

“Alone,” he says, shooting Clint a weird look. The omega watches Alpha Bucky go.

He decides to revisit the list. It reads:

  1. ~~Hug~~
  2. ~~Low Mane Lo Mein~~



Clint scratches out Alpha Bucky’s correction to mark it as completed and thinks. He’d like to watch more of the dog show, but he’s technically already done that. 

As the omega begins to think about all that he wishes he’s had, a rock settles in his stomach.

This could easily be used against him, a tool for punishment, withholding everything he yearns for. 

But an order is an order. He scribbles down his wish quickly. 

***

The blanket looks beautiful against his bare mattress. The omega stands by the bed to savor the image before the need to touch becomes too intense. He rubs his whole body against it. Alpha Bucky’s mild scent clings faintly. 

Clint can’t help but take a sniff. He imagines his baby swaddled in soft fabric much like this blanket, breathing in faint wisps of Alpha Bucky and Alpha Steve’s scent. He folds the corners over himself and drifts. 

He remembers the last time an Alpha had been this kind to him. When he was much younger, in the midst of puberty, he’d had a much older patron. Though she was surprisingly gentle, it still hurt when she was pressing down on top of him, growing pains in his hip making him wince as she fucked him. 

Once she finished, she had looked at him sadly. The words she had said to him are lost with time but he could never forget her shoving a candy bar under his nose. Clint had wanted to save it, but he knew his Claimer would come in after the Alpha patron left. His stomach rolled at the thought of getting caught and so he had begun to eat. 

He had broken off a few pieces to share with the older Alpha. They nibbled on the chocolate together, naked side by side on the bare bed until the candy bar was gone. When she left, she placed a kiss on his forehead.

He never saw her again. 

A soft knock on his door wakes him to full consciousness. By the scent, he can tell Alpha Steve has returned. He waits for the Alpha to come in, but after a few moments he doesn’t. Instead Alpha Steve knocks again.

“Come in?” Clint says hesitantly. Alpha Steve does, a bright grin on his face. His eyes shoot to the purple blanket stretched across the bed. 

“Hey,” he says softly. The omega eyes the Alpha warily. He latches onto the blanket firmly. He’s prepared to kick up a fuss if Alpha Steve attempts to take it from him. 

Alpha Bucky gave it to him. He hasn’t paid for it yet, but he’s going to. And Alpha Bucky seems to know he’s good for it. 

Surprised at his own defiance, he ducks his head and hopes that Alpha Steve didn’t catch his determined expression. He loosens his grip on the blanket. 

“Nice blanket,” Alpha Steve says with a smirk, looking smug for some reason. 

“Thank you,” Clint makes sure to say. He’s still tense, Alpha Steve might think the blanket looks nice enough that he decides to take it for his own use. 

The Alpha leans against the doorway, arms crossed. Clint is instantly on alert. Alpha Steve doesn’t _look_ angry but that doesn’t mean much. 

Alpha Steve could be hinting at him. Standing in front of the door and waiting for Clint to present to him. The omega’s mouth goes dry. He should have done that _instantly_. Instead, he had gotten himself worked up and ready to protect something that didn’t really belong to him.

Before he can turn around, get on his hands and knees, and hope that Alpha Steve will be quick, the Alpha starts talking.

“Did you find everything ok? I know the way we’ve set up this house can be a bit confusing.” 

Clint tenses. Did Alpha Steve know he’d looked around the house to fix the sink? Was he waiting for Clint to own up to it?

Unsure, the omega just nods. 

“That’s good,” Alpha Steve says, then he blushes. “You came up in conversation today. My friends want to meet you.” 

Ice cold fear drops on Clint like an avalanche.

Of course. 

He’d been stupid to think that he’d be kept between Alpha Bucky and Alpha Steve. The Alphas don’t seem like they need the money but he’s not surprised. Though the omega knows he should have expected this, he feels let down all the same. 

Alpha Steve looks a bit panicked and backpedals, “Not anytime soon of course. I told them you need time.” 

Clint’s ashamed because he _does_ need more time. He’s gotten used to the idea of just the two Alphas fucking him. Clint can’t bear the thought of more already, when the Alphas he lives with haven’t even mated him yet. 

He braces himself for the blows. He’s denying them money when he should just shut up like a good omega and take it. He knows better than this. He knows _way_ better than this. He wants to apologize, tell Alpha Steve he’ll be good for his Alpha friends, but the words are stuck at the base of his throat. 

“You like baseball?” Alpha Steve says. Clint blinks, wondering if he misheard. “I was gonna watch a game soon, you wanna join in?” 

The omega nods. 

In the living room, Alpha Steve swipes the remote from the ground and reclines on the couch. The omega feels his face warm but the Alpha doesn’t say anything about it. He switches the channels until he lands on the baseball game. 

Alpha Steve is animated as he watches the T.V. Clint about rockets out his seat the first time the Alpha growls at the screen. He doesn’t seem to even notice the omega’s presence at all, and the anger isn’t directed toward him. 

The Alpha goes to shout but reigns in his reaction, muscles bulging as he throws an arm over his mouth to stifle it, presumably not to wake up Alpha Bucky. At the first commercial break, Clint feels relieved. The movie they watched pales in comparison to the mind numbing repetition of the game on the screen. He struggles to stay engaged and soon begins to nod off. Alpha Steve turns to him, and he blinks his eyes to pretend he was watching. 

“My friend Sam, well when I told him about you, not that I said much,” Alpha Steve’s stammering jolts him into full awareness. 

The omega wants to assure him that it’s ok if Alpha Sam can’t wait. That he can bring Alpha Sam over now and Clint won’t fight. That he’ll behave, and neither Alpha Steve nor Alpha Bucky will have a reason to punish him.

The words get caught in his throat. He bares his neck instead and begins to get wet. The omega wishes he could tell his body to wait, that Alpha Sam hasn’t gotten here yet but as always, it doesn’t listen. 

Alpha Steve’s face pinches. “Let me try this again without sounding like an idiot,” he sighs, “My friend Sam said some things that I didn’t even think of.” He pauses. Clint doesn’t react. “Do you have any family you want us to call? Friends?” 

Surprised, Clint looks up. Alpha Steve is looking at him sheepishly. The omega shakes his head. 

“Ok,” Alpha Steve says slowly. “Sam mentioned a few resources for us to look up. We have a computer in the study you can use.” 

A crack sounds from the T.V. and Alpha Steve’s head abruptly snaps back to the screen as a player runs across a green field. Clint sits quietly as Alpha Steve gets back into the game. The omega has no idea what’s happening, so he just focuses on trying to keep track of the ball. 

After a few minutes, Alpha Steve grimaces. 

“Actually, I’ll show you where it is now. I can just record this.” He says, tone thick with guilt. Confused, Clint follows the contrite Alpha into a study. 

***

Clint’s eyes widen as he takes in the colorful room. Where the rest of the house was mostly monochrome with hushed accents, this room looked like a paint palette exploded in it. Paint of all colors streak, blot, and drip on the once white walls. 

The room barely smells of anything, so the paint must be old. An easel sits in a far corner. The canvas is blank but used up charcoals sit on the lip.

A flat screen computer sits on a bright blue desk, a polka-dot chair sticking out from underneath.

“I know it’s a lot. But believe it or not, it helps me focus.” Alpha Steve says. 

“It’s beautiful,” Clint whispers. 

“Thanks, I painted it myself.” Alpha Steve grins then gestures at the chair. “How bout you _take a seat_ and I’ll show you what Sam was talking about.” 

Clint does, and the computer chair is firm but soft underneath him. Alpha Steve leans over him to start up the computer. The scent of his cologne is not as overpowering and Clint finds himself not minding. He’d even say he likes it a little. 

“You can use this computer anytime you want. As long as no one’s on it of course,” Alpha Steve offers. Clint nods, knowing he’s not going to take him up on that, and watches as the Alpha types away. 

Suddenly the chair sways back and forth, side to side. Though it’s not even going fast, Clint clings to each arm of the chair for dear life. The movement instantly stops. 

“Habit. Sorry.” Alpha Steve says. The omega nods, not sure what to think of the apology and refocuses on the screen. 

“That’s one of them,” the Alpha says. It takes a moment for the omega to make sense of what he’s seeing. There’s so much going on he has a hard time parsing through what’s important. Clint zeroes onto one word. _Housing;_ is mentioned multiple times on the page. 

The omega’s eyes sting, he knew he’d gotten his hopes up for nothing. He thinks about his pup who may never have a Claimer. Who he won’t be able to take care of. Clint wants to apologize, to plead, anything to change Alpha Steve’s mind.

“What do you think?” Alpha Steve prods. Clint rubs at his stinging eyes. 

“Should I leave now?” The omega manages to say, voice strained. Alpha Steve’s eyebrows hit his hairline. 

“I’m not kicking you out!” The Alpha says. Clint’s expression is unchanged. “Clint, I promise. I want you to have options. That’s all.” 

The omega nods but his place here still feels precarious. One more slip up and he knows he’s out the door. Alpha Steve stares at him and for a minute Clint thinks he may get another hug.

Instead, Steve gives him a soft look, “Maybe we can look at this later.” 

Once again, Clint has been disobedient. He forces himself to look back at the bright screen. Nothing’s changed, the words still haunt him. 

Alpha Steve sits heavily on the chair in the corner. “What do you like to do for fun?” 

Clint racks his brain for an answer that will appease Alpha Steve. He can’t think of anything. He parts his lips to apologize but Alpha Steve cuts in before he can say anything. 

“It’s ok if you don’t know. More things to put on your list right?” Alpha Steve’s smile doesn’t waver, but he does shift minutely. Silence falls. Alpha Steve clears his throat. 

“Well as you can tell, I like to paint. But to be honest, if I get my hands on any type of medium I just can’t help myself. I’ve recently fallen into charcoal.” He waves his hand at the easel. Clint looks over at the blank canvas. 

“Did you want to try?” Alpha Steve says. Clint returns his attention back on him. The Alpha’s adopted the same excited look he’d had when he shared his list idea. Clint really does want to try but he hesitates. 

Alpha Steve keeps trapping him into accepting what he yearns for. The amount he owes them is astronomical. Clint stares at the floor. Alpha Bucky hadn’t liked it when he’d lay bare on the mattress he’d been given. He curses himself for not presenting. Alpha Bucky must be disgusted with his poor performance. 

He reassures himself that if he does it for Alpha Steve, Alpha Bucky will likely find out that he’d been obedient. He hopes that’s enough to stave off the worst of the punishment. 

Clint reaches for his pants first, lifting his butt slightly off the chair to ease them down. 

“Hey!” Alpha Steve says sharply, then immediately looks mortified. “Sorry, it’s just… you don’t need to do that. Not ever.” 

Clint looks at the floor. The obvious lie stings. Alpha Steve seemed nice enough to tell him the truth, even when it’s ugly and painful. 

“Did you want to try? The charcoals?” Alpha Steve says again, into the silence. 

“Yes,” Clint says softly. It’s not as if he has a choice but to tell the truth. Alpha smiles at him and gets up to hand him a few fresh charcoals, blank and white, and a small blank canvas. Alpha Steve settles into his own easel, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. 

Clint places the canvas beside the keyboard carefully. He presses the charcoal on the thick surface but doesn’t know what to draw. 

“Can you put on my playlist? It’s on Spotify. I’m already logged in.” Alpha Steve orders, not looking up from his drawing. The charcoal grasped in Clint’s hand turns damp with his sweat. He has no idea what Alpha Steve is talking about. 

Alpha Steve looks up at the ensuing silence, brows furrowed in confusion. After a moment, he figures out the issue. Clint flinches when the Alpha approaches the computer. He manages to stay out of Clint’s space, partially because the omega leans out of his way as much as he can, and grasps the mouse. 

Alpha Steve shows the omega how to get to the playlist. Clint drinks in the directions, just in case the Alpha ever asks him to repeat it. The music flows out of the speakers. It’s mellow tune sounds good to Clint’s ears. He calms more, especially when Alpha Steve gives him more space. 

Alpha Steve doesn’t try to make conversation which Clint’s glad for. He draws a few shapes, there isn’t much to it but he finds the action enjoyable. 

“How’s it coming along?” Alpha Steve breaks him out of his single minded focus. Clint’s drawing is cruddy, and he doesn’t want to show it but he also doesn’t want to get punished. He holds up the canvas with fingers blackened by the charcoal. 

“Looks good!” Alpha Steve gives him a thumbs up. Clint flushes, the Alpha’s praise is vastly misplaced but it feels good all the same. He places the canvas back on the table. 

“What the fuck is this!” Alpha Bucky shouts from somewhere in the house. Alpha Steve startles and Clint almost falls out of the chair. 

Alpha Bucky stomps into the doorway. He looks incensed, face red with anger twisted in a scowl. His strong shoulders are tense as if ready for a fight. 

“What the fuck is this.” He growls out again, glaring straight at Clint. Alpha Steve’s list is grasped in his metal hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knoooow.. another cliffhanger my bad lol I swear this is the last one for now! Also sorry to any baseball fans out there. I find it really boring and that bled into this chapter haha
> 
> Sorry these updates are so erratic! Maybe I should do a weekly model for consistency's sake? Let me know what you think.
> 
> Inspiration: 
> 
> Ain't nothin' gonna break-a my stride  
> Nobody gonna slow me down, oh no  
> I got to keep on movin'  
> Ain't nothin' gonna break-a my stride  
> I'm running and I won't touch ground  
> Oh no, I got to keep on movin'
> 
> -Break My Stride by Matthew Wilder


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all the comments!! Wow! 
> 
> This will probably be the quickest update for a while because:
> 
> Me and Chapter 5 had an argument and we aren't on speaking terms right now lol Never fear though! We plan to reconcile very soon!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> t/w: (slight spoiler - warning at end)

“Buck, what’s wrong?” 

Clint sits rigid. He eyeballs the metal hand holding up Steve’s list in trepidation. He asked for too much and now Alpha Bucky has lost his patience with him. 

The omega wishes he could magic away the piece of paper. But he knows he needs to own up to what he asked for when he had no right.

“Where’d you say you got him from?” Alpha Bucky snaps to Alpha Steve, though he doesn’t take his eyes off Clint. 

“Calm down,” Alpha Steve says, hands hovering in a placating manner. 

“No. Who told you to write this?” Alpha Bucky shakes the wrinkled paper at Clint.

Clint shakes his head, confused and begins to tremble. Alpha Steve steps forward and gently grabs the paper out of the other Alpha’s grasp. He grimaces once he reads it. 

Clint looks on miserably. 

Alpha Bucky snarls, “Did someone send you?” 

“Now hold on a minute,” Alpha Steve says, the paper floats to the floor, abandoned. 

The omega can see the words from where he’s sitting. 

  1. ~~Hug~~
  2. ~~Low Mane~~ ~~Lo Mein~~
  3. Quick punishment from Alpha Bucky



Clint cowers away, crawling out of the chair to stand against the wall. There’s a small damp patch left where he’s sat. He hardly notices, too focused on making himself as small as possible. There’s a strong scent of fear in the air and not all of it is coming from him. 

Alpha Steve places a hand on the other Alpha’s metal shoulder, grip light. Alpha Bucky stumbles away from the touch, back hitting the wall in the hallway. His eyes are blown wide. His breath quickens, deeply gasping for air.

“They’re touching me Stevie,” Alpha Bucky pants out, looking miles away. “I can feel them.” He scrabbles to hold onto Alpha Steve, unsteady on his feet. Alpha Steve eases him down until they’re both sitting against the wall. 

“They aren’t here. Breathe for me Buck,” Alpha Steve says calmly, one arm slung over the other Alpha’s shoulders. 

Alpha Bucky’s flesh hand is tightly threaded in his hair, a grip that looks incredibly painful. Alpha Steve encases the metal hand in his and holds it down on the floor, knuckles pulling white from the effort. 

Alpha Bucky’s eyes are scrunched closed as if to block out the horrors playing out in his mind. 

“I can feel them. Oh my god!” 

Then Alpha Bucky falls silent but for a panicked attempt to suck in air. Sweat gather on his temples as his chest stutters desperately. 

Alpha Steve looks through the door at Clint. 

“Can you give us some space?” he says softly. The omega nods, more than eager to leave them to it. He darts out of the office, practically hugging the wall to avoid getting too close to them. 

He can still smell Alpha Bucky’s fear from behind the closed door. 

It’s terrifying. 

Clint has never seen anyone in that state before, let alone an Alpha. Oftentimes, he wasn’t sure if Alphas even had feelings. He knows now that’s untrue. 

Clint can’t pinpoint what feeling is blossoming in his chest, he just knows he hurts. Hurts _for_ Alpha Bucky. He has the urge to go back into the hallway and… do something. Clint isn’t really sure what, but something tells him he would know if given the chance. 

The blanket stares at him and Clint rips it from the bed. He doesn’t deserve it. Not anymore. The omega stares down at his belly and rubs it tenderly. 

He refuses to let his pup get caught in the middle of his punishment. The omega will twist and turn in ways that prevent his stomach from getting hit. He makes wordless promises filled with love to his pup. 

Clint sits on the bed, trying to occupy his mind with anything other than the two Alphas who haven’t Claimed him yet. 

A sharp rap of knuckles startles him. Alpha Steve barges into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. He’s holding the list in his hand. The blonde Alpha looks twice as old as he had earlier. 

“I’m sorry,” Clint blurts out. Alpha Steve sighs.

“Can you tell me what this means?” He says tiredly, handing Clint the piece of paper. The omega stares at it, willing the words to have changed. Of course they stay the same. 

“I know I deserve it,” Clint hurries to say. “That was a mistake.” 

Alpha Steve runs a hand over his face. “Why do you think Bucky is going to… punish you.”

The omega curses himself. He’s made another assumption. Alpha Bucky isn’t doling out punishment after all. That’s going to fall to Alpha Steve. He gulps, suddenly aware of how close the Alpha is sitting to him. 

“I know I deserve it,” he says again. “I understand now. I meant to say Alpha Steve.” 

The Alpha flinches, looking hurt. 

“Why are you calling us that?” His tone has a bite to it. Alpha Steve shakes his head before Clint can respond. “I’m not going to hurt you. Bucky isn’t either. I swear.” 

The omega bobs his head, “Ok.” 

Alpha Steve frowns at him. Clint tenses, forcing himself not to cradle his stomach protectively. 

“Are you hungry?” Alpha Steve says, still sounding unhappy. The omega shakes his head. 

Message received. He won’t be eating dinner tonight. 

The Alpha eyes him. 

“Alright,” he says, before leaving the room. 

Clint hadn’t even realized how hard his heart was beating out his chest until he’s alone again. He breathes out shakily. That could have gone much worse. He’s not really sure why it hadn’t. 

The night passes quickly. He’s restless as he moves around on the bare mattress. Alone in his thoughts, a fear he didn’t even know he had creeps up. The omega had been so sure they would just toss him back and forth that it didn’t even occur to him that they may have him _at the same time_. 

HIs stomach is tied up in dread, they’re both so big on their own. Both of them together would definitely leave him bruising after they’ve held him down. Imagines of what they both could do to him flash through his mind and he doesn’t sleep. He stares at the ceiling and ignores his hunger pains. 

***

“Breakfast,” Alpha Steve says from outside the bedroom door. Clint blinks his dry eyes. He got a few passing moments of sleep, but mostly stayed up and worried. His fate so uncertain, he wishes the Alphas would just fuck him, beat him, and do whatever else they planned to do. 

Alpha Steve is already gone by the time the omega makes it to the door. Clint supposes this part of his punishment must be over. His stomach grumbles as he enters the kitchen. 

Alpha Steve is by the toaster, sipping on a cup of coffee. He’s wearing a plain grey sweat suit. 

“Almost done,” he smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The omega cautiously sits over at the table, careful to avoid eye contact.

“Do you want some?” Alpha Steve points at the coffee. Clint hurriedly shakes his head, the smell is nauseating to him. He’ll be relieved when Alpha Steve finishes drinking it. They sit in awkward silence. 

When the toaster pops, Clint jumps and Alpha Steve practically leaps from the counter. The Alpha puts a plate of toast and eggs in front of the omega. He also grabs a spreading knife, butter, and jam and offers it to Clint. 

“Sorry if you like peanut-butter. We don’t keep the stuff in the house. I’m allergic.” Alpha Steve chuckles but it sounds fake even to Clint. 

Alpha Steve sits down heavily at the table and tries to make eye contact with Clint. Avoiding his eye line, because the omega knows a trap when he sees one, Clint begins to put together his meal. 

He slathers butter and the jelly onto the toast. He eats quickly, afraid the delicious food may be taken away. Alpha Steve clears his throat. Knowing he has no choice, Clint looks up at the Alpha. 

Alpha Steve’s expression has fallen, none of the humor on his face. 

“I’m sorry about the way things went last night.” Alpha Steve says. His eyes close and he breathes out once, twice. He forces himself to reply before Alpha Steve begins to punish him. 

“I’m sorry for hurting Alpha Bucky,” the omega says. Though he’s trembling on the inside, he manages the words to come out as steady as he can manage, so Alpha Steve knows he means it genuinely. Alpha Steve flinches. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m not mad. _Bucky’s_ not mad.” The omega notices the emphasis Alpha Steve puts on the other Alpha’s name. Clint knows very well how an omega should refer to an Alpha. 

He munches on his breakfast so he doesn’t have to respond. A sheet of paper is placed in front of him and he tenses. Maybe Alpha Steve will grab the back of his head and rub his face against it. He thinks that’d be a light punishment, all things considered. 

Clint glances at it, knowing he can’t run from his mistakes, but his third entry is nowhere to be seen. Instead, it looks like someone had glued the first two entries onto a fresh sheet of paper. The omega blinks. 

Alpha Steve smiles at him, genuinely this time. Clint tentatively smiles back and if anything Alpha Steve’s smile grows. 

“I’m off to work,” Alpha Steve says. The omega’s smile instantly drops. He didn’t give it much thought before, but he can definitely detect Alpha Bucky’s scent somewhere in the house. His stomach sinks. 

Clint takes a few breaths, urging himself not to panic. 

***

He spends the day avoiding Alpha Bucky and Alpha Bucky spends the day ignoring him. They tiptoe around each other. Clint presses his ear to the bedroom door before leaving to snatch bits of food from the kitchen. 

Similarly, he can hear Alpha Bucky move around cautiously, seeming to pause every so often too. 

The omega swallows, guilt welling up again. He’s not even sure what happened but he can’t get the image of Alpha Bucky, crumpled in pain, out of his head. He wants to help. A plan begins to form. 

It takes him an hour to work up the courage to follow through. The omega creeps into the kitchen but Alpha Bucky is nowhere in sight. Relieved, he gets to work. 

Clint turns the oven on almost as high as it will go and lets it heat. He finds a pan, much like the one he’d seen Alpha Steve cook eggs with before.

He peruses around the kitchen, considering his options. The omega smiles as he finds some white rice. He pours the grains into the pan generously. 

Now a bit heavy, he sets the pan down and rummages for some meat. He finds some bacon and carefully places a few pieces across the mound of rice. His stomach growls, he hopes Alpha Bucky will share. 

He pours water over the rice to soften it, then puts Alpha Bucky’s dinner into the oven. When the door closes, Clint feels a huge sense of satisfaction.

Thoroughly pleased with himself, he decides to celebrate by taking a warm shower. The water feels just as amazing as it had before. The steam cradles his sore muscles and releases tension. 

Clint stands directly under the spray. His hair is getting long again, water plastering the strands against the tips of his ears. 

Exhaustion starts to catch up to him. The omega yawns heavily, eyes drifting shut. His sporadic sleep throughout the day had clearly not been sufficient. 

He jolts into awareness as a loud alarm blares from beyond the bathroom door. Clint almost loses his balance. He jumps out of the shower, hastily throwing his clothes back on before he books it down the hall. 

Smoke is floating from the kitchen, and the alarm is shrill in it’s warning. Clint rushes forward, trying to figure out what went wrong but Alpha Bucky beats him to it. 

He appears from nowhere and yanks the oven door open. Alpha Bucky coughs, metal hand darting in and grabbing the smoking pan. He flings it into the sink and pours cool water over it. The alarm stops beeping abruptly. 

Alpha Bucky whirls on him and Clint immediately bares his neck. He messed up. He messed up real _real_ bad. He’s struggling to breathe, both from the smoke and sheer panic. 

“Are you ok?” Alpha Bucky looks him over from afar, as if he needs to see for himself. Clint nods cautiously. Alpha Bucky visibly relaxes and squints into the sink. 

“What the hell is that,” he says, but the Alpha sounds confused, not angry. The pan is mostly blackened, so it’s no surprise Alpha Bucky can’t make out what was supposed to be his dinner. Clint keeps his head down. 

“Is that _rice_ ,” Alpha Bucky’s voice reaches a new octave. He looks at the omega, “Did you take cooking lessons from Steve?”

Clint shakes his head. He would never pin his mistake on Alpha Steve. There’s silence and then Alpha Bucky lets out a huge, world weary sigh. 

“We’re really aren’t gonna pretend it didn’t happen, are we?” Alpha Bucky grimaces, crossing his arm. Clint stays silent. He’s glad Alpha Bucky brought it up. Waiting all day for this shoe to drop had been excruciating. Clint braces himself. 

“I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that,” Alpha Bucky mutters, a hand rubbing against his face. Clint notices some of Alpha Bucky’s mannerisms are similar to Alpha Steve’s. Or maybe it's the other way around. “That wasn’t cool.”

“I’m sorry,” Clint says, meaning it fully. He’s sorry about the punishment he’s about to receive, yes, but mostly he’s remorseful about how he’d made Alpha Bucky feel. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Alpha Bucky says after a few moments of silence.

A sad smile on the Alpha’s face reminds Clint so much of the kind female Alpha from his past that his heart clenches. Clint nods his head, trying to stamp down his urge to believe Alpha Bucky. 

The Alpha juts out a fist, causing him to flinch away. Once Clint notices that the fist isn’t moving, he looks up at Alpha Bucky perplexed. The tips of the Alpha’s ears are red. 

“Best I can do right now,” he explains, then wags it invitingly. Catching the hint, Clint pounds his fist against Alpha Bucky’s. He smiles slightly at the contact. Alpha Bucky moves away to open the windows. 

“My name is Bucky,” he says. Clint tilts his head, confused why Alpha Bucky would mention something he obviously knows. 

“Without the Alpha. Just Bucky,” the Alpha says. Clint flinches, conflicted. It seems so disrespectful to say but Alpha Bucky _did_ ask. He nods slowly, a mere uptick of his chin. Alpha Bucky looks expectant, arms crossed. 

“Ok… Bucky,” the words taste like acid on his tongue but the Alpha looks pleased with him. 

“Well this pan is fucked,” Bucky says, tossing the cooled pan in the trash. Clint swallows. 

“Come on, I’ll teach you how to cook without burning the house down,” Bucky says with a laugh.

Clint doesn’t quite find it funny, dread settling in as he realizes all that he wasted. The Alpha doesn’t give him much time to ruminate, immediately starting his lesson. 

The omega can barely keep up as Bucky teaches him how to chop, stir, and season. They work together well. Clint takes Bucky’s clear instructions well, and only makes a few mistakes. 

“You’re a natural,” Bucky smiles at him. Clint smiles back shyly, his cheeks heating under the praise. All that’s left for the food to do is simmer. They pause. 

“Ever play Mario Kart before?” The Alpha is smirking. Clint looks at him in confusion. Bucky’s smirk widens. “Follow me.”

***

The game gets intense quickly but his fear takes a backseat to his desperation to win. He understands the controls quickly and overtakes Bucky. The Alpha complains next to him, grumbling about beginner’s luck and cheating. 

Clint’s won 3 out of 4 games. When the fifth round is over, and his character is jumping up and down, Bucky growls.

“You hustled me,” he accuses. Clint feels a spike of fear; he should have let the Alpha win. He curses himself until he realizes Bucky is joking. He shrugs helplessly, unsure how to respond. 

The front door unlocks and they both freeze. Bucky relaxes once he’s realized Alpha Steve is stepping through the door. 

“Something smells good!” Alpha Steve chirps. Clint sweats, waiting for Bucky to tell Alpha Steve what he’d done. 

Clint tries not to stare when Alpha Steve kisses Bucky on the lips. 

“Who’s ready to eat?” The Alpha says eagerly once they break away. 

“You don’t even know what it is,” Bucky laughs at him. There’s no sign of Clint’s earlier mistake when they all reach the kitchen. He breathes just a bit easier. 

Alpha Steve has nothing but praise for the food, sometimes sharing his appreciation without chewing first. Bucky scowls at him. 

“This is really good, Buck.” Alpha Steve says once he’s swallowed. Clint basks in the praise quietly even though it isn’t directed at him. 

“Well I had help.” Bucky gestures over to Clint. The omega blinks around the food in his mouth. 

Alpha Steve positively beams at the omega. “Thanks Clint, I’m definitely going for seconds.” 

The omega ducks his head, face flaming red with pleasure. 

“Did you add anything to your list?” Alpha Steve asks. A rock settles at the pit of Clint’s stomach. He had completely forgotten. 

“Can we grandfather in Mario Kart? Cause he totally kicked my ass.” Bucky says with a smirk. Clint shoots him a look of shocked betrayal. He’s not sure if Alpha Steve’s fine with him playing video games. 

But the Alpha just laughs, “Damn I wish I hadn’t missed that. Rematch soon?” 

“Hell yea,” Bucky says, then says mockingly to Clint, “you're goin’ down pal.” 

Clint smiles shyly, he’s looking forward to it.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END.
> 
> Lol jk jk. We have a lot more to cover : )
> 
> t/w: ptsd characteristics/symptoms
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! I really love reading everyone's thoughts so thank you for that!
> 
> Inspiration: "The secret of getting ahead is getting started" - Mark Twain


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me and Chapter 5 made up! 
> 
> THANK YOU to everyone who's reading this : )

Time passes with very little excitement. Clint mostly tries to keep out of the way, unless one of the Alphas coax him into watching a movie or two. So far, he hasn’t been caught for hiding his pregnancy, though there have been moments that were too close for comfort. 

One such day, Bucky presents him with an ‘online shopping cart’ full of clothes for the omega’s approval. Clint had liked the colors, but panic pushed his heart out of his chest when he saw the sizes would be too small soon. To his relief, Bucky had left him to it with instructions to check out whenever he was ready, and to add anything he wanted. 

When he’d sat in front of the screen, his eyes had bugged out of his head when he saw the prices. After taking a steadying breath, Clint had sized up each article of clothing, and a few thick hoodies for good measure. 

Now, he sits in the living room quietly with Alpha Steve, perching on the couch after the Alpha had insisted. Clint shies from the remote when Alpha Steve waves it at him. Not to be deterred, Alpha Steve makes it a point to ask his opinion about every channel they land on. 

When Clint doesn’t respond, has nothing to say, after the 3rd cycle through the channels, Alpha Steve takes matters into his own hands and stops on a colorful children’s movie. He’s startled when Alpha Steve begins to sing. He can’t carry a note at all, but Clint enjoys himself anyway. 

Alpha Steve smells happy, and the scent calms him. Clint finds himself mumbling along, the song repetitive enough that he’s able to catch onto the lyrics. He gets a smile in response, and he ducks his head in shyness, not fully realizing what he’d been doing. 

At the end of the movie, the same song from earlier plays and he knows the lyrics. He nods along, and settles more comfortably on the couch. Subtly, he puffs up his sweater more so it isn’t laying against his stomach. 

His eyes grow heavy, and he feels himself drift, but for the most part he’s still able to keep up with the movie. 

“Wow! You have a great voice!” he hears from beside him. Clint flinches, he hadn’t even realized he was softly singing along.

Worried he ruined the viewing experience for the Alpha, he attempts to blink away his drowsiness to face what he’d done head on. But Alpha Steve hadn’t been upset. Instead, he looks content, reclining more on the couch in full comfort. 

Clint smiles slightly, already starting to drift again.

“Thanks Steve,” he mumbles. 

The Alpha doesn’t say anything in response, but Clint doesn’t mind. As he’s on the edge of sleep, he feels eyes on him. That’d never spelled any good for him, so he opens his eyes carefully. 

Alpha Steve stares at him as if he’d cooked one of Bucky’s specialties, or maybe three of them. 

Confused, Clint gives him a wary look, sleepiness pushed away by unease. Alpha Steve’s face is a ray of delight and then he looks back at the movie.

Sort of. 

Every so often, he shoots a look at Clint, grinning about something. 

Slightly alarmed, Clint thinks back at their interaction. What had gotten Alpha Steve so excited? 

After retracing mental steps, the floor drops from below him. He’d called Alpha Steve… Steve. His eyes widened, swallowing down a lump in his throat that’s almost painful. 

“You’re welcome, Clint.” the Alpha finally says, and looks at him gently, “and thank you.” 

Still shaken and unsure what to say, Clint bobs his head once. They don’t speak after that, but Steve keeps his smile for the duration of the movie. 

Neither have Claimed him, much to his dismay, but they also haven’t made him leave. He has tentative hope that they’ll mate him soon. 

All in all, everything is going well until Steve drops a bomb during one of their midday movie marathons. 

“I was thinking about bringing a guest over. You remember Sam right?” The Alpha attempts to say casually. He misses the mark completely. A cold sweat breaks out on Clint’s brow. Yes, he remembers Alpha Sam. 

The time has come then. Clint’s thankful that Steve is kind enough to warn him. He nods, voice caught in his throat. 

“How about dinner? Bucky can cook something,” Steve says, giving a pointed look to the other Alpha. 

They’re not cuddled up for once, instead sitting side by side, Bucky’s legs curled up beneath him. There’s enough space for Clint to sit next to them, but he doesn’t dare. Bucky cuts a look at Steve. 

“Yes I can,” he says, before directing his attention back to the movie. 

“Sounds like a plan then, I’ll text him.” Steve says, looking pleased. 

“Great. Now shush!” Bucky says. The Alpha is definitely into the movie more than Clint is. The omega’s discovered that he’s more of an action/comedy fan. The drama playing out before the omega had been putting him to sleep.

He’s wide awake now. 

***

The wait for Alpha Sam to arrive is excruciating. This must be his audition, his way to prove he can be a good omega that deserves to be Claimed. He sweats through the day, barely able to focus when Steve or Bucky talk to him. They must sense his energy is off, because they shoot him weird looks and are overly nice. 

Clint tries to smile at them and silently tell them that it’s ok. He knows his place and he’ll perform well for Alpha Sam. He’s somewhat comforted by the thought that he’s that much closer to being Claimed. Soon, he may even be able to reveal his pregnancy. But he’s careful not to get ahead of himself. 

The clock ticks cruelly, sending him through the hours as if they were minutes. When the roasted chicken is left in the oven to stay warm, Clint knows his time has run short. The omega takes the time to slip away and freshen up. 

In the shower, he shoves a finger in his hole. The omega hasn’t been fucked in awhile, and he’s almost forgotten how to relax enough for his hole to give way to the digit. The ring of muscle is tight and resistant at first, but he manages to push in past his first knuckle. 

He forces himself to breathe and works his hole open. Clint’s not sure if he’s allowed but he doesn’t want to tear. Hopefully Alpha Sam won’t be able to tell.

After he’s successful in pushing in two fingers, scissoring them until he’s begun to slick, he steps out of the shower. Clint dresses in one of his larger sweaters and pants. He’ll be obedient, but he can’t risk taking his top off for this. 

The omega’s best bet is to get on all fours and keep the sweater on. Alpha Sam will hopefully be too distracted by the mating to care. 

Bucky is setting the table when he re-enters the kitchen. The Alpha smiles when he sees him. Clint’s glad to see four plates. At least he’ll be able to eat before it begins. His heart stops when the doorbell rings. 

“I’ll get it!” Steve yells from somewhere in the house, probably cleaning the already pristine living room. Clint’s stiff as a board as the door opens. He can hear a muffled conversation and then footsteps. 

This is it. 

As they approach, Clint’s nostrils flare. 

No. 

It couldn’t be. 

His suspicions are confirmed when Steve and Alpha Sam step into the kitchen. But Alpha Sam is no Alpha at all, he’s an _omega._

Clint goes tense for an entirely different reason. He eyes up Sam, expression going from fearful to sour. 

“Hey man! Nice to finally meet you!” Sam says, holding out his hand for Clint to shake. Clint returns the gesture reluctantly, glare firmly in place. Steve laughs nervously while Sam seems unaffected, giving him an easy smile. 

They take their places, Bucky carving the chicken for easy grabbing. He’s also made mashed potatoes and asparagus. Sam sits a tray on the table and takes the lid off. Fresh bread fills the container. Steve makes a noise as if he’s wounded, but piles three rolls on his plate. 

“Made ‘em myself. Old family recipe,” Sam winks at the other omega. 

Clint looks on in envy. He remembers his own cooking debacle. The time he almost ‘burned the house down’ as Bucky had said. His scowl worsens. Sam’s rubbing it in that he’s the better omega. 

“How was the ride over?” Steve asks, an attempt to break through the tension. 

“As frustrating as ever,” Sam grins, “You know no one can drive in this area.” 

Bucky laughs. Clint grits his teeth. The Alpha doesn’t laugh often, at least not from what Clint says. Twenty minutes into his arrival and Sam’s already done more than Clint can manage in a week.

“How’s living with these two knuckleheads?” Sam says. Clint swallows. The omega could be digging, trying to figure out all of Clint’s weak spots and parade them in front of the Alphas. He refuses to comply. 

“It’s good,” he says shortly. 

“Oh Bucky,” Steve says loudly. His cheer sounds fake. “I need you to help me with the thing.” 

“Smooth,” Bucky rolls his eyes. He looks down at his plate mournfully, then follows the other Alpha out of the room. Clint ignores the other omega’s eyes boring into his skull as a dense silence falls. 

“No seriously. How is it living with them?” Sam asks. Clint doesn’t know what else he wants him to say. 

“I want to check in and make sure you want to be here. They both have a big heart but I know Steve can be a bit commandeering.” 

“You had your chance,” Clint grumbles out. Sam’s eyes widen in surprise, his hands coming up in a placating manner. 

“Whoa, trust me. I don’t want them.” Sam grimaces, looking slightly grossed out. He taps his finger, showing off a ring Clint hadn’t seen before. “I’m married. And even if I wasn’t, they’re like brothers to me. That’s all.”

Clint relaxes. 

“But I am concerned. You haven’t left the house since you got here.” Sam says. Clint tenses again. “You’re allowed to leave.” 

It honestly never occurred to him. He wouldn’t ask for permission even if he had the urge to leave. 

“I know,” Clint says. Sam eyes him.

“Good to hear.” Sam isn’t deterred by his standoffish demeanor, and instead fills the silence with amusing stories. Clint surprises them both when he lets out a soft laugh, mostly an exhalation of air, but genuine all the same. 

Sam gives him a toothy grin and the ice is broken. 

Sam makes sharing interests and stories look easy. Clint clumsily tries to replicate his casualty, offering up the movies he likes. After debating with himself, he decides to tell Sam about the list. 

He doesn’t mention the blow up, just that the list exists. The omega had been hesitant to touch it again for fear of making the same mistake. Sam lights up. 

“You like Marvin Gaye?” Sam says. Clint tilts his head. 

“Who?” Maybe that’s another friend. Clint wonders if Marvin’s an Alpha. Sam gasps in mock offense. 

“Marvin Gaye, Trouble Man album.” Sam says, looking pleased with himself. The other omega nods, he’ll put it on the list. They continue to chat quietly.

“We were jogging,” Sam starts to laugh and his voice gets louder, “then this bird flew out of nowhere-”

“We don’t need to tell that story,” Steve interjects, looking embarrassed as he enters the kitchen. 

“Oh I think he does.” Bucky smirks from behind him. Sam is a great story teller, smirking at how red Steve’s face gets. Clint laughs softly. Both Bucky and Steve snap their heads toward him, expressions indiscernible, and he immediately quiets down. He avoids looking at them, and they don’t say anything either. 

Sam doesn’t let the moment stay, instead launching into another story. The dinner continues with everyone in good spirits. 

Clint feels guilty for the way he acted at the beginning. As Sam leaves, he offers a fistbump to the other omega. Clint gladly reciprocates. 

***

“Can you help me with something?” Bucky says much later on. Clint sits up from his place in front of the T.V. and nods, curious of what it might be. Luckily, he’s already seen this _Dog Cops_ episode so he’s not missing anything. 

He gets a little nervous when Bucky leads him to the Alphas’ shared bedroom. He’s never been in there, always assuming that they would fuck him in his own room. This is a nice surprise though. He’ll likely be able to keep his sheets then, if he performs well, and then he’ll be Claimed. 

The room smells strongly of the Alphas and Clint’s not sure if he wants to run or cuddle up under their covers. 

Clint looks around the room. The bed is unmade, a blue and white striped comforter rucked up among dark blue sheets. There’s a table on each side, both have items that the omega recognizes as Steve’s _and_ Bucky’s. 

He blushes at the evidence that they are a couple. He knew it but hadn’t thought about it too deeply. Now the fact is laden in front of him and he can’t help but wonder how it happens. He’s never heard of Alpha’s together, let alone mating. He quickly refocuses when he realizes Bucky’s speaking. 

“I know you’ve been fixing up a few things around the house, so I’m hoping you can help me out with this.” Bucky holds a shower head. The fixture is much bigger than anything he’s ever seen. 

“I can try.” Clint says, dubious about his own skills. He’s surprised with how easily he falls into the work. Without realizing it, he starts to hum. Then abruptly stops when Bucky hums along with him. 

“I love that song,” Bucky says with a grin. Clint smiles and after a moment, starts humming again. He finishes the work with very little fanfare. 

“Hell yea,” Bucky says. They share a fist-bump and Clint preens. Bucky’s lips curl into a mischievous smirk.

“Let’s go bother Steve,” he says. They find the Alpha in the study, working hard on a charcoal drawing. He’s focused and completely in his element. There’s black streaks across his cheek, arm and his clothes. A dirtied rag is tossed over strong thighs. Clint’s stomach flutters as he takes in the serene Alpha. 

He’s thrown from his reverie when Bucky raps on the door frame in loud repetitive knocks. Steve yelps and the charcoal in his hand goes flying. Clint’s eyes widen, fear gripping his chest. This is not what he signed up for. 

Steve whirls around, giving Bucky and Clint the stink eye. The omega flinches. Meanwhile, Bucky is snickering. 

“Bucky!” The Alpha says in offense. Bucky seems unbothered, eyes crinkling with mirth. 

“I’ll have my revenge. Clint, we gotta plan something good.” Steve says, a deceptively sweet smile on his face. Clint jumps at being addressed but his shoulders loosen in relief when he realizes Steve doesn’t find him responsible.

“You’re _awful_ at pranks,” Bucky groans, face in his metal hand. 

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” Steve says. Clint can’t help but feel a bit excited too. Bucky’s hard to startle or surprise, and never seems to find anything scary. 

“For now it’s time for bed,” Bucky says with a playful grin. The other Alpha huffs out a laugh. 

“Now I see your angle. Give me a sec.” Steve rolls his eyes and begins cleaning up. A blush on his cheeks betrays his casualness. 

Clint’s face heats at the implication. He’s thought of it a few times, nothing too extensive, when they’ve shown affection that was a little more than friendly. And definitely when he’d been in their room. 

The omega thinks it wouldn’t be like how he’s had it. They’d be kind to each other and it wouldn’t hurt. Clint quickly dashes the thoughts away, it wasn’t his business. 

“Goodnight,” Bucky tosses over his shoulder as he wanders away. 

“Night,” Clint says with a yawn. He’s sleepier than he realized. 

“Night Clint,” Steve says, content. 

A tentative, small, smile takes over his face when he climbs into bed. Bucky had added a half dozen blankets and a few pillows to the ‘online shopping cart’ unbeknownst to him at the time. He settles down in the mound of covers in good spirits. Sleep comes easily. 

***

Clint feels awful when he wakes up. He has to fling his body out of bed, as much as he can fling with a growing pup, and falls onto the toilet. The nausea has barely abated when he’s done. He wants to spend the day hugging the toilet but that would be too obvious. 

Instead, he examines himself in the mirror. Sweat drips down his pale face. The bags under his eyes are grey and puffy. Not sure if he can stand up that long, Clint forgoes the shower and washes his face with cold water. It has little effect. 

Nonetheless, he knows he needs to make an appearance. Steve’s nowhere to be found, likely on a run. 

“Morning,” Bucky grumbles from his place at the table. He’s sipping on coffee and the scent makes Clint’s stomach roll. He takes shallow breaths to block out most the smell and peruses the cabinets. 

“Good Morning,” he says, trying to hide the exhaustion in his voice. The Alpha ignores him for the most part. Clint has never been more happy that Bucky isn’t a morning person. 

Clint nibbles on some crackers quietly. Once he’s shown face for a significant time, he hides away in his room. His lower back aches as he tries to find a comfortable position. He settles on his common arrangement; laying on his side atop of the covers with a pillow under his hip. 

He drifts in between visits to the bathroom. He’s sleeping light enough that he knows that he’s dozing and no dreams plague him. 

Clint knows he needs to get up soon when lunch time rolls around. Whatever either of them are cooking, Bucky most likely being the culprit, smells delicious. His nausea has mostly disappeared so he’s not too nervous about eating something. 

His suspicions are confirmed when he enters the kitchen. Bucky’s stirring something in a pot. The Alpha looks up when Clint enters and gives him a smile. 

“Some minestrone today. Figured we could make some sandwiches too.” Bucky explains, “Sounds good?” Clint’s stomach growls. That sounds better than good. That sounds perfect. He nods once. 

Bucky tilts his head toward the refrigerator, “Could you get out the sandwich fixings?”

Clint hurries over, though not as fast as he wanted to with the faint churning of his upset stomach. 

He pulls out what he remembers Bucky likes, then some random veggies for good measure. They make their sandwiches in silence and settle in the living room on the T.V. trays. Steve always wants to sit at the table, saying it’s better to make conversation that way. Bucky argues back pointedly that you can’t have much conversation with your mouth full. 

Clint likes doing both, so he’s not upset at all to watch a movie while they eat. In the middle of the movie, Sam calls Bucky, asking if he wants to come to dinner. Bucky seems to give it much thought before he accepts the offer. 

Still on the phone, he asks Clint; “Did you want to go out for dinner? Sam’s the only one that’ll be there, if that matters at all.”

Clint resists the urge to vehemently shake his head. “That’s ok,” he says softly. 

“Just me,” Bucky confirms over the phone, and even though it’s casual without any sign of anger, Clint still feels guilty for turning him down. Before he can go back on his word, if only to appease the Alpha, Bucky’s already ended the call. 

Clint turns back to his food, and after a bite, fights not to just shove all of it in his mouth. Something sets his taste buds alight. He chomps into it more, chasing the taste. He can feel Bucky’s eyes on him but can only focus on his food. 

A few of his veggies fall from between the bread, and he picks each one up. Sniffling along as he holds them. He salivates once he lands on the slices of jalapenos.

Most of the recipes Bucky makes don’t include jalapenos but when he does they’re always cooked. But this raw jalapeno? He can’t get enough. 

He flinches when he sees Bucky’s hand in his periphery. He’s ignored the Alpha too long, and now he’s going to be punished for it. He glances over tentatively, though he knows he should face his punishment head on. 

In Bucky’s hand is a napkin full of cut up jalapeno peppers, the bridge of his nose dusted pink. 

“I don’t really like ‘em on my sandwiches anyway.” 

Clint gratefully takes them, unsure why he’s been rewarded. Even if it’s a trap, it’s a delicious trap. Bucky begins to clean up, having demolished his sandwiches. Clint smiles to himself, glad that the Alpha liked the food he had chosen for him. 

Clint’s left alone with his thoughts when Bucky leaves for dinner. The omega ponders over it when he settles on the couch. Bucky, an Alpha, is going to dinner with an omega. His face scrunches up in confusion. Sam made it clear that he wasn’t interested in being mounted by Steve _or_ Bucky. 

A part of him regrets turning down the offer. Curiosity, and a feeling he can’t pinpoint, have taken over. To distract himself, he relocates to his bedroom. He takes care to spread out the treasures gifted to him by the Alphas he lives with. 

They stand stark against his purple blanket, and he takes a moment to drink the sight in. 

Clint starts with the toiletries, hands hovering over the lotions and soaps he’d never tried before. He lifts his favorite shampoo to his face; deeply inhaling the lilac scent.

He moves on to the hairbrushes. Though he doesn’t use them much, they’re still nice to have. He thumbs over the bristles before turning his attention to the underwear. He had been shocked when Bucky had added the boxers to his ‘online shopping cart’. He rubs the soft fabric between his fingers with a contented sigh. 

He hasn’t paid for anything yet, and they don’t seem interested in Claiming him.

But.

He’s been allowed to stay, and eat, and sleep, without punishment. 

Payment may come soon, he has no way of knowing, but for now he’ll enjoy all that they’ve given him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for while (relatively speaking - could be an update next week) because my laptop is bricked right now. If your computer ever mentions the Bios system be prepared for frustration lol
> 
> But I still have a chromebook so I plan to use that in the interim. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> Inspiration: “Remember that just because you hit bottom doesn’t mean you have to stay there” – Robert Downey Jr.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just continually blown away with the response from this story! So glad people are liking it : )

Steve reigns in his reaction when Clint suggests, unprompted, a film for their movie night. His heart sings, elated that Clint’s started to feel more comfortable around them.

Clint’s still sitting in the chair, even though they’ve made sure to leave room for him on the couch, but at least he doesn’t smell scared. Steve looks over at Bucky with a relieved smile, which the other alpha reciprocates. 

Steve and Bucky agree to Clint’s choice eagerly. Judging by the startled look on Clint’s face, their response was a bit _too_ eager. He seems to shake it off quickly though, and presses play. 

The movie is pretty good. Guiltily, Steve thinks about his plan to pretend he liked the movie even if it was bad. He doesn’t know if that would even be helpful and he’s glad he won’t find out one way or the other. 

The movie is long, and they pause about halfway through to take a bathroom break and grab snacks. Steve takes it upon himself to grab the food and Clint follows him. 

His footfalls are more confident than they’ve ever been, though still cautious. Steve is careful not to draw attention to his silent companion and opts to enter the kitchen without keeping conversation. 

Clint immediately beelines to the cabinet that holds all the chocolate, though he’s obviously trying to be casual about it. Steve smiles fondly to himself, thoughts directed toward Clint and his partner. 

Once Bucky noticed how much Clint likes chocolate, he’d practically cleaned out the grocery store with his purchases of sweets, candies, and snacks. 

Steve wanted to tease him about it, but the redness on the tips of Bucky’s ears and uncomfortable shifting when Clint looked at the food in poorly concealed awe, made him refrain from doing so. Neither alpha has really dipped into the ‘chocolate cabinet’ but Clint hasn’t seemed to notice. 

Steve decides to bring some salt into the mix and puts some popcorn in the microwave. Clint’s still poking around the chocolate cabinet and Steve leaves him to it.

Bucky’s already on the couch when they return to the living room. Steve places the bowl on his lap and sits down heavier than necessary just to be annoying. 

Bucky grumbles at him as he places both hands around the bowl to prevent any spills. The remote is in Clint’s chair, so they both wait patiently for him to rejoin them and start the movie. 

Once they’re all settled and the movie’s been playing for a good bit, Steve has an awful and selfish thought. He wants Clint to sit with them, if only to feel more included in the household. He casually pulls the popcorn bowl from Bucky’s lap and places it on the couch cushion beside him.

“Did you want some popcorn, Clint?” he says. Bucky shoots him a warning look, already realizing Steve’s plan. 

Clint startles, having been enraptured in the movie. He nods tentatively, eyeballing the bowl hungrily. He only has a few packets of chocolate bars left and Steve makes a mental note to buy more. For now, he focuses on shaking the bowl invitingly. 

Steve stops, feeling gross that he’s calling Clint over as if he were a stray dog, but it works. Clint makes his way over to the couch and perches on the edge. He stares at the popcorn, then back at the two alphas. Bucky isn’t even looking while Steve gives him an encouraging look, being completely obvious. 

Clint tentatively grabs some pieces from the bowl and Steve can barely contain his excitement. Instead, he settles back into the movie, careful not to react when Clint helps himself to the popcorn every once in a while. 

Steve has noticed during their time in front of the T.V. that Clint hates commercials. He’s subtle about it, but there’s always a small flash of annoyance on his face when his episode of _Dog Cops_ is interrupted by an advertisement about toilet paper no less. 

Tonight is no different. Once the movie is finished and they flip over to regular television, Clint flicks over any channel with commercials playing. He finally lands on a channel that's playing another movie but Steve can’t complain. He enjoys spending time with Bucky and Clint. 

Bucky tenses beside him and Steve looks over at him quizzically. He doesn’t give an explanation, only staring at the screen with a grimace. Steve nudges at his side and gets his hand brushed away for his efforts. 

Once Steve turns his attention toward the movie, really looks, he pales. Now he understands. 

They’re watching _Requiem for a Dream_ , a film that includes an exploitative sex scene. Steve’s doesn’t know much about Clint’s past, but he can deduce some things.

He works his jaw, wondering if he should find a way for Clint to change the channel. He knows his fair share about triggers. 

Luckily, the commercials seem too much for Clint and he hands over the remote tentatively. 

“I’m tired,” he says quietly. 

“Good Night,” Steve nods his head, schooling his features. 

“Night,” Bucky says, his face open and friendly. 

Once Clint’s gone, the alphas spread out on the couch and rearrange themselves to cuddle. When Bucky drops a kiss on his temple Steve sighs in content.

***

After Clint comes out of his bathroom, nightly routine completed, he feels irritated. He’s not sure why; movie night was as enjoyable as ever. He even got to eat popcorn and chocolate. Neither left his stomach upset, and he’s pleasantly full. 

He lays down and grits his teeth. He’s not mad at Steve or Bucky, not at all. He’s just… grumpy. His common position on his side is painful, so he lays on his back. 

He doesn’t want to risk the alphas seeing his stomach so, even at night, he bundles up a blanket between his belly and the comforter.

He spreads a hand over the growing belly, giving assurances to himself and his pup that they’ll stay together no matter what. 

The thought comforts him, regardless of if it's true or not, and a deep sleep comes over him. 

A few days later, he sits in the study room chair listening to music. Clint bobs his head along, singing to himself quietly. 

He’s the only one who can access his playlists, because when Steve helped him make an account, he also showed him how to change the password to something the alpha wouldn’t know. 

Clint had clicked around until he got the hang of it, and once he did he immediately searched for Sam’s suggestion about ‘Marvin Gaye’. 

He liked it, and ended up stumbling upon something called ‘Motown’ that had so many music options he was almost overwhelmed. 

Currently, he’s nodding along to ‘War’ by Edwin Starr. He’s reached the 2:00 minute mark when there’s a knock on the door frame. Clint startles severely and pauses the music. 

Steve stands by the door, looking sheepish, “Sorry,” he says. 

“Was it too loud?” Clint asks tentatively. 

“Nope,” Steve says, “I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the store?” 

Clint stares at him. Steve smiles back.

“Ok,” he says. He gets ready, relieved that wearing so many layers won’t look suspicious in the blistering cold. 

When Steve passes through the front door, he casually holds it open for Clint. 

Clint hesitates; looking through the door that opens up to the outside. Steve gives him an encouraging look and, for the first time in weeks, Clint passes through the threshold. 

Frosty air blows into his face, making him shiver slightly and disappear more into his hood. Steve hustles to the car and Clint follows him gladly. 

The car seems larger than life and Clint climbs into it awkwardly. The leather seats are soft yet firm, and Clint melts into them. He instantly feels warmer when he pulls the door closed after himself. 

Warm air blows softly from the vents, and before he can stop himself, he presses his frozen fingers against them. 

He sighs in relief. 

“Seatbelts!” Steve trills playfully as he backs the car out of the driveway. 

Clint jumps, apologizing quietly as he pulls at the seat belt. He tenses when he realizes how tight the belt will stretch across his torso.

Discreetly, he puffs up his jacket and pulls the seat belt over himself. Luckily, Steve isn’t even looking at him and the jacket obscures his belly completely. 

Curiosity gets the best of him, and even though he knows he shouldn’t, he lightly touches around the parts of the car he can reach. 

He presses down on a button and the window opens. He flinches as cold air hits his face, and hurriedly pushes down on it again until the window rolls back up. 

Embarrassed, he looks over at Steve but the alpha’s eyes are focused on the road and he’s humming along to the soft music playing. Clint places his hands in his lap before he makes an even worst mistake. 

He looks out the window, and becomes completely enraptured in the scenery the car speeds past. Frozen trees stretch across wet grass that shines in the afternoon sun. Puddles of water collect along the side of the road, presumably from melted snow. Even though he’s not sleepy, the calm stillness has him drifting. 

“Was there anything else you needed?” Steve says. 

Clint jumps, realizing that the alpha had been talking for minutes now and he hadn’t been paying attention to any of it. 

“No, I don’t think so,” he stammers out. 

Steve’s none the wiser, nodding his head in acknowledgement as he pulls into a parking lot. Once parked, Steve hustles into the large store, looking over his shoulder to make sure Clint is close behind. Clint follows at a slightly slower pace. 

The store is pure chaos in Clint’s eyes. Loud music. Loud rolling baskets. Loud kids.

He can’t find it in himself to complain about the children. Instead, he looks at them in longing. A particularly loud toddler, screaming with his cries, sits atop his parent’s shoulders. Clint openly gawks at the parent, because that’s an _alpha_ holding the pup. 

He stops abruptly to stare, and flinches when someone bumps against him.

“Watch where you’re going!” the man snaps, and steps around him. Clint tenses, but the stranger doesn’t hurt him. 

“Are you ok?” Steve asks, looking concerned. Clint nods, though he’s a bit shaky about it. He relaxes a bit more as the trip progresses. 

The items Steve gathers have no rhyme or reason to them. So far, he’s gotten light bulbs, dish detergent, coasters, and trash bags. 

Clint’s temples start to throb as they walk aimlessly through the store. Maybe he should have paid more attention when Steve was talking in the car. 

“This is our last stop,” Steve says. Clint nods, secretly thankful that the trip is almost over. The aisle is filled with electronics.

Clint recognizes some, but others are foreign to him. Steve stops in front of the cell phones, which Clint definitely recognizes, and scrutinizes each one. They sit, exposed, atop a clear display case that holds boxes within. 

Clint looks at the phones too, for lack of anything else to do. 

“What do you think of this one?” Steve says casually. They all look the same to Clint but he obediently squints at the phone anyway. 

“It’s nice,” he says. 

“Do you like the color? Is the size ok?” Steve probes. Clint tilts his head in confusion.

“This is for you,” Steve explains. Clint jolts. 

“Oh no, that’s ok.” he stammers out. Steve frowns slightly, and despite himself Clint flinches. 

“This is a way for me to reach you. You’ll be doing _me_ a favor by having a phone,” Steve says. 

“Um,” Clint says. The alpha smiles at him encouragingly and Clint turns back to the phones. He attempts to find the cell that costs the least amount of money, but struggles to do so. He points at one he thinks is the cheapest. Steve smiles. 

“I’ll go find a sales associate. Feel free to keep looking if you change your mind.” Steve says then he _walks away._

Uncomfortable, Clint leans into the display case then recoils away. That’s glass he was looking through, not plastic. He gives the case a once over to check for any damages he may have caused, but it still looks in good condition. 

“Hey there,” Clint hears. He looks over at who’s talking instinctively. An alpha leans against the case next to him. She has a smirk on her face. 

“Hi,” he says warily, and it comes out more as a question. 

“How ya’ doing today?” she says, and her smirk softens to a bright smile. 

“...Fine,” he says. 

“Nice to meet you…?” 

He swallows, “Clint.” 

“Danvers,” she says and shoots a hand out for him to shake. He does so cautiously, looking around the store for Steve, “Carol Danvers,” she says again with a slight chuckle as if it were a joke. It’s one he doesn’t understand. 

“You doin’ anything tonight?” She says, smirk back in place but it isn’t unkind. Before he can respond, he smells Steve and an omega show up. He looks over in relief.

“Oh,” Steve says. Clint watches in horror as Steve gives him space, back peddling from the aisle before Carol can notice him. Clint sends him desperate looks.

When he looks back over, Carol is looking at him expectantly, confident but not pushy. 

Steve must notice his panic, because after a few moments he approaches them hesitantly. Carol looks up at him, then back at Clint. 

She runs a hair through her short hair, and shrugs a shoulder casually. 

“Catch you later Clint,” she says and wanders away. Steve sidles up next to him and the sales associate clears his throat. 

“Did you have any questions about any of the models?” The sales associate says, looking directly at Clint. He shakes his head and points at one randomly. 

“We actually sold the last of this model this morning, but we can order one in. It should take 3-5 business days. Does that work for you?” 

Clint’s not sure. He’s beginning to get frustrated because he’s confused, his head hurts, and a random alpha’s scent is shoved up his nose. 

Steve thankfully steps in and says brightly, “That’s perfect.”

“Great, I’ll ring you up on the counter over here.” 

Clint waits quietly as the excursion reaches its end. As soon as he can slip away, he takes a hot shower that does wonders, and burrows under his covers.

It’s still early in the day, but if Bucky can take naps then he can too. He keeps his large sweater on. Although he took a shower, he still has chills.

Resting his head against the pillows aggravates his headache. He winces and adjusts the pillows so he’s more upright than before. It works. Somewhat. 

***

When Clint awakens, he feels much better. His appetite is as large as it always is and he salivates at the thought of eating more jalapenos.

Clint can’t get enough. He’s not sure why his body has become fixated on them so severely, but he’s been able to enjoy the jalapenos without comment from Steve or Bucky. 

Excited, perhaps too much, he throws the covers off of himself and sits on the side of the bed. Feet planted on the floor for leverage, he rises into a standing position. 

“I can’t take it anymore!” Bucky cries. 

Startled, Clint falls back onto the bed. His blood runs cold at the sound of approaching steps. His door is thrown open. 

Bucky stands in the doorway, eyes wild and shoulders tight. 

“Buck, stop!” Steve is hot on his heels. 

“Clint, _please_." Bucky says. 

Clint trembles as the Alpha steps closer to the bed. He must have been wrong. They were going to Claim him after all, and Bucky is sick of waiting. He curses himself for being so scared. This is what he wanted. It’s finally happening. 

A part of him feels as if a knife has gutted his chest, but he swallows it down. He has no right to feel betrayed. 

This was always his future, he’d just been too careless. Clint pushes himself back until he's fully on the bed, silently telling them that he’ll obey. 

Steve clamps a hand over Bucky’s shoulder and pulls him back, none too gently either. Bucky rears back and suddenly they're snarling and barking at each other. They scuffle, knocking each other to the floor. 

Clint hurries to wrench his pants down past his ankles. The hoodie he wears is thick and a couple sizes too big. He keeps it on.

He gets on all fours, chest heaving as he lays his head against the pillow. Part of him wants to clench his cheeks closed, so the Alphas won’t be able to breach his entrance.

He immediately shoots the idea down. 

First off, that would have been obscenely disobedient and though he’s never been punished by them, he knows the consequences if he tries that. 

Second, they could easily overpower him and stop any of his efforts to keep from being mounted. He’s noticed how Steve’s arms bulge when he vacuums and he’s seen Bucky’s thighs flex underneath his jeans when he crouches to rearrange pots and pans. 

Instead, he spreads his knees as far as they will go and arches his back. He clenches his eyes shut. 

“Ok, ok.” Clint says, breathless with terror. 

His heart hammers painfully as the Alphas fight over mating him first. He can barely hear himself over the snarling so he tries to plead louder. He only manages to pant out, “Don’t fight. I’m sorry.” 

He’d already been wet when he spotted Bucky in the door, looking expectant, but now slick slides down his thighs. The snarling stops abruptly, both the Alpha’s heads popping up from where they’d been tussling. 

“Oh my god, Clint no!” Steve exclaims. He shoots the other Alpha a withering glare. 

“Can you sit up?” Bucky says softly, face ashen. Clint scrambles to obey, crawling to the edge of the bed clumsily. He trembles as he settles within arms reach of both Alphas. If they decide to punish him, well, he deserves it. 

“You can redress if you want to. That’s not what’s happening here.” Steve jaw clenches. 

“Not at all.” Bucky says, face pinched with guilt. The omega wants to ask what _is_ happening but he doesn’t dare speak. 

Steve sits on the bed, keeping distance between them and looks at Clint sadly. The omega swallows as he pulls up his pants. 

“We know you’re pregnant.” 

The world drops from beneath Clint. 

Everything’s over. 

They’ll take his pup away and he’ll never see his baby again. His eyes prickle with hot tears and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. 

“We didn’t say anything because you didn’t tell us. Figured it wasn’t our business. But I got carried away right now. I’m sorry.” Bucky is saying but Clint isn’t listening to him. 

“Right. But this wasn’t the plan.” Steve grits out. 

“By the time we followed through with your plan, he’d be in labor!” Bucky says hysterically. 

“Cool it.” Steve snaps. 

“Please,” the omega croaks out. “Please let me keep my pup. Please. Punish me, I deserve it, you can mount me please I don’t care let me keep my pup, please,” Clint sobs, fat tears streaming down his face. 

He continues to plead incoherently, begging for them to have mercy as he cowers away.

There’s no point in hiding it, so he spreads a hand over his belly protectively. 

Both Alphas look at him in horror. 

“You’re still afraid of us, and I just made it worse. Fuck!” Bucky looks sick to his stomach, face crumpled in devastation.

“Clint we’d never do that. Promise.” Steve says. “I don’t think you know this but we can smell it. I could tell from the first week you got here. We just want to help, I swear.”

“The scent was driving me nuts. When you smelled distressed and pregnant? I could barely breathe.” Bucky says, looking remorseful, then his eyes widen and he rushes to say. “Not that it’s your fault.”

Clint looks up through his wet eyes. Bucky avoids eye contact, mouth down turned and eyebrows pinched. 

“You _are_ still afraid of us.” Steve says hollowly. It’s not a question. Clint doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t respond. 

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky says roughly, running a hand through his errant hair. 

“Will you let us help you? You need medical care. Please Clint,” Steve says. 

Clint’s heart is hammering out of his chest. They stopped, they didn’t mate him, they know he’s pupped, and he’s not getting hit, or fucked. He clutches his stomach, and tries to think clearly. He remembers all the times they’ve been kind to him and taken care of him. 

They’ve always let him eat, more food during a day than he’s ever been used to. They let him watch movies and T.V. They let him play video games. They let him listen to music and even let him have an account just for himself. They’ve given him countless treasures. 

The evidence stacks up in their favor. 

He nods once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pup is (always has been) out of the bag!
> 
> Fun fact: This last scene was actually the first scene I thought up before this fic was even a thing. Though the first few iterations were very very different. I just kinda built this around it. 
> 
> Inspiration: "I'm not so keen on letting my car drive itself." - Chadwick Boseman (R.I.P King)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments, kudos, & bookmarks!! Wow!!
> 
> t/w: Medical examination after past trauma

“Are you coming to bed?” Steve says in the dim living room. After he’d finished his nightly ritual, he was saddened, but not surprised, that Bucky was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t hard to find where he’s gone. 

His partner stirs from the makeshift bed on the couch, a blanket thrown haphazardly over his body. 

“I think we both know the answer to that, Stevie.” Bucky says. Head pillowed on his metal arm, he refuses to look at the other alpha. 

“Don’t shut me out, Buck. Come on, let me hold you.” 

There’s silence for long enough Steve almost repeats himself. 

“Can you just leave me alone?” Bucky says.

“In a second,” Steve snaps, then his voice softens. “We’re ok right? I’m not mad at you.”

Bucky pulls the blanket over his head. 

“Things did get a little intense in there,” Steve says. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. Not now.” 

Steve sighs, “Fine.” 

He goes to leave, “Good Night Bucky, I love you.” 

No response. 

“I said, _I love you_ Buck.” 

“Love you too,” comes muffled from under the blanket. Steve grits his teeth and, though it pains him, leaves Bucky alone.

Steve finishes his nightly routine and gets into bed. The covers are cold and uncomfortable when he slides underneath them. Steve looks over at Bucky’s empty side table, and his jaw tightens. 

He shuts his eyes but sleep doesn’t come until the early hours of the morning.

***

Steve wakes in a cold sweat, heart hammering out of his chest. 

He groans, throwing an arm over his eyes to block the sunlight filtering through the curtains. He only gives himself a minute to lay in bed, because the need to check on Bucky and Clint overpowers his sleepiness.

Steve gets ready for the day, splashing cool water on his face before he steps into the shower. The water relaxes him as it sloughs off dried sweat. 

He uses some of Bucky’s shampoo, hoping his mischievousness will put a smile on his partner’s face. 

Wait. 

He hasn’t heard Bucky _at all_ even though he knows the man was more than likely to have had a nightmare. 

Steve jumps out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist. He runs down the hall, holding the towel closed, and skids to a halt in the living room. 

Bucky is nowhere to be seen and the blanket is folded on the couch cushions. 

The blanket has a note on it. Steve stumbles over to pick it up. 

_I’ll come back. I love you._

“Shit!” Steve sprints back into the bedroom, towel riding dangerously low, and snatches up his cell. 

He dials Bucky, placing the phone on speaker so he can get dressed. It rings, rings, rings, before going to voicemail. 

Steve reaches over to dial again as he pulls up his boxers.

It goes to voicemail. He calls again after he pulls up his pants. Then leaves a voicemail when Bucky doesn’t answer

Put on a shirt. Leave a voicemail. 

Slide each sock on. Leave a voicemail. 

Run down the hall. Leave a voicemail. 

He’s starting to get choked up when he tries again, “Buck, please pick up. Where are you?” 

Steve dials again, not caring that he’s blowing up Bucky’s phone. This time it doesn’t even ring, just goes straight to voicemail. 

Bucky’s turned off his phone. 

Steve grips the phone so hard that it hurts. He shoves it in his pocket. 

“Clint,” he knocks on the bedroom door, trying to reign in his panic so he doesn’t scare the man. 

“Come in,” the omega says. Steve pushes through the door. Clint’s curled up on his side and there’s a sickly grey pallor to his face. Steve’s heart clenches. 

“Bucky’s gone. I’m going to go find him,” he croaks, trying to stick to the facts. 

Clints eyes widen before his face falls, throat jumping as he swallows. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“It’s not your fault. I’ll be back before your appointment. There’s ginger ale in the fridge.” Steve says. 

“Ok,” Clint says quietly. Steve curses himself for leaving the omega in such a state but grabs a coat and shoves his feet into his shoes anyway. 

Steve checks the perimeter of their home first, but Bucky’s not there. He pushes apart the shrubbery even though the plants could barely conceal a raccoon, let alone a fully grown man. 

He hops into their car and before he’s even out of the driveway, calls out from the window, “Bucky!” 

Steve stops frequently, flicking the hazards on as he jumps out the car and searches places Bucky may have gone within the last few hours.

By the way each shopkeeper eyes him warily, he must look deranged in his desperation. 

Steve scrolls through his camera roll and finds a picture of Bucky to show each employee. 

He used to look at it fondly; Bucky had just woken up, looking as grumpy and half asleep as always, and Steve had snapped a picture. 

Now, Steve uses the picture to ask anyone who will look if they recognize him. Bucky’s not smiling in the picture, and Steve’s sure he’s not smiling now. 

All the people he talks to shake their heads sadly.

After he’s run out of options, Steve hops back into the car and calls out to Bucky again.

As he impatiently waits at a red light, a younger woman flags him down. He peers at her through his open window, heart pounding. 

“You lookin’ for Bucky?” She says. Steve’s chest loosens and he breathes out a rough exhale in relief. 

“Yea- Yes, do you know where he is?” He’s almost leaning out of the window, not caring if the light’s turned green or not. 

She doesn’t take long to respond but it feels like an eternity when she opens her mouth again. 

“He was brought to an animal shelter, it’s about a block down from here. Rottweiler puppy right?”

Steve’s white knuckles the steering wheel.

“Thanks,” he chokes out, “I miss him.” 

She gives him a blinding smile, “Not a problem! Have a good day!” 

Steve eases through the intersection, unsure how long the light has been green. Teeth chattering from the cold, he rolls up his window. 

Once he can feel his face, Steve slows to a crawl and rolls his window down again. A loud honk cuts off his next attempt of shouting. 

The driver behind him lays on the horn, leaving Steve discombobulated for a few moments. Steve pulls over, and puts his hazards on. 

“Asshole!” the driver says as he blows past. 

Steve calls Sam. 

“Hey Steve.” Sam says. Steve can hear the cheer in his voice and debates with himself if he should just hang up. He doesn’t want to ruin Sam’s day. 

“Steve?”

“Yea I’m here,” he says.

“Are you ok?” 

“Yea, I’m fine.” He says, voice wobbly. 

“Steve. What happened?” Sam says sternly. 

“Bucky left, I can’t find him. Is he with you?” He sounds miserable to his own ears. 

They both know Bucky’s not at Sam’s. Steve would have received a call immediately to come retrieve him. 

“Do you need me to come over?” Steve hears rustling and footsteps on the other side of the phone. 

“I’m not home.” Steve says. “God I left Clint alone. He hasn’t been feeling well and I just left him there.” 

“Steve, you can’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.” Sam says seriously, a bit of a warning in his voice should Steve protest. 

Steve doesn’t respond, jaw clenching to fight back tears of helplessness. 

“Where are you? I can come get you.” 

Steve shakes his head before he realizes Sam can’t see it. 

“I need to take Clint to the fertility clinic.” He says. 

“So he’s finally told you?” There’s a smile in Sam’s voice. 

“Not exactly.”

Sam sighs, “Can you please just tell me where you are?” 

“I’ll call you later Sam.” He hangs up and Sam tries to call him again. He swallows and drives home. 

He finds Clint in the kitchen, eating crackers and sipping ginger ale. He’s dressed for his appointment, sans his sneakers and looks deep in thought. 

“Ready to go?” Steve says, trying to smile. Clint blinks.

“Did you find him?” Clint’s soft voice sounds booming to his ears. He shakes his head, not sure if he’ll be able to speak without losing his composure. 

After a moment Clint nods. “I’m ready.” 

***

Clint’s instincts go haywire when he settles into the car. He wants to apologize, but also comfort. 

Steve may want a hug, he thinks. Clint’s never initiated one but he’s willing to try once they get to the clinic.

His courage leaves him when they arrive. The waiting room is almost full, and Clint’s eyes jump from person to person. 

He’s momentarily distracted by a young couple, so wrapped up in each other that their intimacy drowns out the rest of the world. 

Steve guides him over to the reception desk and crosses to the waiting area, dropping down heavily in a chair. Clint shoots eyes at him, hoping Steve will talk for him. 

“Name?” 

“Um, it was scheduled by Steve Rogers?” the omega says, sweating a little. 

“The 2:30 appointment?” Clint nods. 

“Can I see some ID and your insurance card?” Clint panics, shooting desperate looks over to the sullen alpha. 

“Sir, I need to see some ID.” Steve seems to have heard her that time. He walks over, and flips open his wallet.

“Here,” he says. 

The receptionist processes the cards then hands them back. “A nurse will escort you to Room E.”

“Wait a minute,” Steve starts to protest when a nurse appears and corrals them out of the waiting room.

Room E is cold and Clint’s arms break out in goosebumps when he takes off his coat. The nurse tells them that the doctor will be there shortly and leaves them in the sterile room. 

The lack of scents puts Clint on edge, but sitting next to Steve helps. He jumps when Clint sits beside him but doesn’t say anything. 

Steve’s mood seems to have gotten better, and the mellow scent helps calm him. 

“You feelin’ ok?” Steve says. Clint nods, pressing his side into his steady presence.

Clint tries not to disappear into Steve’s chest when the doctor breezes in. 

Though their scent is muted, Clint can tell they’re an omega.

Black rimmed glasses rest on their angular nose, low enough that they almost obscure a brown mustache curled at the ends. Their glossy black hair is pulled into a tight bun at the top of their head. 

They push up their glasses, and a small smile graces their face as they say, “Good Afternoon, how are we doing today?”

Clint ducks his head, feeling shy.

“I’m doing ok,” he says finally, when the dense silence that follows becomes too much to bear.

“Same here,” Steve chimes in, clearly waiting for Clint to respond first. 

“My name is Dr. Wiffle. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Before we do a check up, I’m going to ask you a few questions. How does that sound?” 

Clint nods in relief, he can answer questions. 

***

Turns out he can’t answer questions. 

Medical history? He’s not sure. 

Mental Health history? He needs an explanation. He doesn't know. 

Currently taking any medications? None at the moment.

Gynecological history? He thinks he’d been 13 or 14 when he had his first heat. But it could’ve been 11. He’s not sure how old he is. 

Obstetric history? He easily answers that one. He knows he’s never been pregnant before. 

Familial history? He doesn’t have family. 

Potential Disease exposure? He’s probably unclean. He doesn’t know. 

Neither Steve nor Dr. Wiffle look happy after he says that. Regardless, his nerves have almost calmed down completely once the line of questioning is over. 

“Do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Wiffle finishes scribbling on their paper and smiles at Clint. He shakes his head. 

Dr. Wiffle directs their attention to Steve who up til now had been quiet. Steve shifts, crossing his legs at his ankles

“Any questions from the father?” Dr. Wiffle says. Steve chokes on his spit, coughing violently. 

“I’m not the father,” Steve sputters. Dr. Wiffle’s expression changes subtly. 

“Alright. Thank you for answering those questions, Clint. Our next step is your check up including a pelvic exam. Please place your clothes on the chair and put this on. I’ll return in about 10 minutes.” Dr. Wiffle hands him a paper smock as they leave the room. 

Steve stands abruptly.

“Well I’ll leave you to it,” he says in a rush. 

Before Clint even realizes what he’s doing, he clamps a hand onto Steve’s wrist. Just as quickly he unlatches his fingers, mortified. 

Steve looks at him in surprise, but there’s no anger in his expression. 

“Are you sure?” Steve says. 

Clint nods. 

Steve doesn’t sit back down immediately, and Clint opens his mouth to tell him never mind, but eventually the alpha reclaims his chair. 

As Clint begins to get undressed, Steve keeps his eyes on the floor. Clint doesn’t understand his behavior, he’s seen almost all of his body before.

When he heaves himself on the bed, thin paper crinkles underneath him as he shifts into a comfortable position. 

He shivers slightly when his thigh brushes against the cool leather of the bed that isn’t coated with paper. 

He rearranges himself out of the way and Steve looks up at the sound. 

“You ok?” 

Clint nods. They fall into silence again. 

A knock sounds on the door before Dr. Wiffle re-enters the room. With instructions from them, Clint lays back and places each of his ankles in a stirrup. 

The position is uncomfortable, and he tries to shift as much as his open legs, and the smock, will allow. 

Dr. Wiffle begins by feeling around his stomach, and the fingers are clinical and foreign. Clint relaxes under firm prodding, and looks over at Steve. 

The alpha is trying as best he can _not_ to look. He keeps his head down, or glances at the sink as if it's the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. 

Clint looks away when Dr. Wiffle redirects their attention and stands at the end of the bed. They’re explaining the rest of the pelvic exam, but Clint’s attention is devoted to what’s about to happen. 

“Did you have any questions before we begin?” Dr. Wiffle asks. 

Clint shakes his head, feeling light headed with nerves. When he feels a gloved finger ghost against his entrance, he tries to move away subtly, butt lifting from the bed. 

Dr. Wiffle pauses. 

“Cold,” Clint lies. When Dr. Wiffle breaches his entrance with 1 lubed finger, Clint’s hand shoots out, scrabbling in the air aimlessly. 

Dr. Wiffle gives Steve a look that could melt steel. 

Getting the not so subtle hint, Steve stands and grips Clint’s hand, looking incredibly uncomfortable. 

Clint latches on like it’s a lifeline, squeezing Steve’s hand almost painfully as Dr. Wiffle continues their examination. When they finally withdraw and pull the gloves off, Clint sighs in shaky relief. 

“Good job, Clint.” Dr. Wiffle says, then begins to sit out a packaged needle, cotton swab, and vial. They sit down heavily on a wheeled stool and address Steve. 

“Visitors aren’t allowed during a blood draw,” they say.

Steve doesn’t need to be told twice, and after squeezing Clint’s hand once, he leaves the room. 

Dr. Wiffle rolls the stool over until they're closer to the bed. They give Clint a friendly smile, face open and calm, “I have begun to ask all of my patients about their family life because it affects their health and safety. May I ask you a few questions?”

Clint thought Dr. Wiffle had already finished asking him questions. 

He fidgets nervously, “Ok.” 

“Everything you say to me will be kept confidential, between you and I, unless there is reason to believe that you or someone else is in immediate danger,” they say, face taking on a more serious expression. 

“Do you feel safe in your home and relationship?” Dr. Wiffle asks. Clint tenses, and nods his head carefully.

“You have extensive rectal scarring.” 

Clint’s not surprised, but it still hurts to hear. 

“When I see an injury like yours, it’s because someone was forced to mate numerous times. How did you get this injury?” 

Clint swallows, a loud sound in the ensuing silence. Dr. Wiffle’s expression changes subtly, just a slight pinch around their eyes. 

Clint’s learned to notice these cues, that he’s displeased someone. He flinches internally. 

Dr. Wiffle clears their throat. “Have you ever been hurt or threatened by Steve?” 

“No, never!” Clint says, his protest almost topples him out of the bed. He shakes his head for good measure, stomach tightening. 

What if they decide he shouldn’t live with Steve and Bucky? The alphas have never harmed him, and he doesn’t want to leave. His fingers tear holes into the flimsy paper, gripping the bed below him tightly. 

“Does anyone else live in the home?” 

“No,” he lies. 

He refuses to see Bucky get blamed for something he didn’t do. By the way Dr. Wiffle is looking at him, he can tell they don’t believe him.

Clint puts on his best smile and loosens his hold on the bed. The expression comes out as more of a grimace. Dr. Wiffle eyes him, but ends their line of questioning. 

“Thank you for answering my questions, we’ll be finished up after I draw some blood.” 

Dr. Wiffle is quick about it, and though they warned him that it would sting, Clint barely feels it. 

“I normally give these to the children, but when an adult patient is especially good I can’t resist,” Dr. Wiffle says with a wink. 

They hand Clint a sticker that has a gold star on it, with black lettering saying, **WAY TO GO!** He blushes as he grabs it from them, feeling immensely proud of himself. 

Before he leaves the room, Dr. Wiffle gives him some pills with a promise that the medicine will make him feel better. He’s looking forward to taking them. 

His good mood persists until Steve drives them back. 

Steve makes them spaghetti for dinner. He brings the simmering sauce to his mouth, sullen and quiet. 

Once Steve finishes cooking, the kitchen is filled with thick silence besides the light tapping of utensils on their plates. The pasta is mushy, and the sauce is bland but it still tastes good to Clint. 

“We’ll find him,” Clint says quietly, after he musters up the courage. 

Steve works his jaw, nodding seriously. “We will.” 

***

Steve leaves some time later that evening to look for Bucky. Clint feels restless, not having much to do. 

He wanted to go with Steve, but he didn’t ask, because he'd only slow him down. 

Instead, Clint sits in front of the T.V. and worries. His mind runs away from him. What if Bucky’s hurt? What if Steve’s hurt? They may never come back, and it’s all his fault. 

He hears the door unlock hours later and perks an ear up. He sniffles hurriedly, but only smells Steve. Disappointed yet relieved, he climbs to his feet to greet him. 

“I didn’t find him,” Steve says tiredly, “I just wanted to check on you.” 

When Clint gets a good look at him, he freezes in shock. 

Steve’s not wearing the clothes he left in. He’s in a uniform Clint recognizes well, the one he saw when he’d peered down a musty air vent.

Steve’s part of them. Part of the dangerous and armed alphas that tried to steal him from his Claimer. 

Clint takes a step back, then another. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve says, getting closer, face pinched in concern. Clint steps further out of his grasp and his shoulders tighten. 

“You tried to steal me,” Clint says weakly.

Steve has the audacity to look confused so he pushes on, “I saw them. Those like you. They almost took me.” 

“Clint, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Steve’s lies burn, and he can feel the fire in his gut. 

“You tried to steal me, from my Claimer,” Clint says softly. Realization blooms on Steve’s face, and a part of Clint’s heart breaks. 

“You’re from the Bite op,” Steve says. Clint flinches. 

The alpha’s face suddenly crumbles, “I knew you’d seen some rough times, but _Jesus Fucking Christ_.” 

Clint hasn’t heard Steve curse much, and the harsh words make him startle. 

“How the _fuck_ did they miss you,” Steve growls, hands balled into fists. He gives Clint a once over, then forces himself to loosen his muscles. Clint knows he looks scared.

“Please believe me. That was a rescue mission. We’d been planning it for months. I wasn’t on the op, but I worked on the plans.”

Silence. 

“Clint, I swear.”

The omega nods his head, figuring he will play it smooth, bide his time, then get the hell away from the alpha that lied to him. 

“Can you give a statement?” 

Clint makes a vague motion, not even sure what that means.

“Sorry,” Steve says, flinching at himself, “that was inappropriate for me to ask right now.” 

“That’s ok,” Clint forces himself to say, “I can do a statement.”

Steve looks relieved, giving him a sad smile. 

“Will you be ok by yourself?” Steve says, eyes tight, “I need to get back out there and look for him.”

Clint hurriedly nods his head. Steve takes the time to sip down some water, and then he’s gone. 

Clint sits on the couch, waiting for the length of time it takes for a _Dog Cops_ episode to end, before he makes his move. 

He hustles to his room, hand on his stomach, and shakes his largest pillow out of the soft fabric case. 

Clint shoves his toothbrush, soap, and underwear into his makeshift bag. Clint bends to look under the bed and the coins are where he left them. He shoves them into his pockets. 

On the way out, he hurries to grab his coat and shoes. 

Just in case Steve happens to be lingering outside, he turns the door handle slowly, peering out to the darkened outside. 

Clint turns his head this way and that before he books it, disappearing into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the OC lol Dr. Wiffle is made up. 
> 
> Don't worry I already put myself in time out for this cliffhanger.. and the next chapter will completely be a flashback *dodges tomatoes* 
> 
> Thanks for reading!! 
> 
> Inspiration: "Lost luggage is just an opportunity to start fresh" - Chris Evans


	8. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really really appreciative of the response to this story so far!! 
> 
> Side note: I got two weird spammy comments last chapter. Luckily I caught them early but I'm hoping it doesn't happen again. 
> 
> If you see any comments soliciting something/with a link on it, please don't click on the link and I will delete them as soon as possible!! Thank you!!! 
> 
> t/w: graphic depictions of violence, derogatory language, elements of internalized homophobia

A little boy, no older than five, kicks up sand as he stomps over to the playground swings.

“It’s my turn!” he demands. Steve tilts his head in confusion, tiny body barely able to hold up the weight. 

“But I just got on it.” Steve says, and goes back to his swinging. Undeterred, the bully grabs the seat before the frail boy can pick up speed and shakes it. Steve falls face forward in the sand. 

He coughs before he uses his skinny arms to stand up once more. Tiny fists clenched, Steve glares up at the other boy. The bully knocks him over and starts pulling at his hair.

Steve coughs again, and this time it’s harder to breathe. He puts up a good fight, struggling against the bully as much as he can. But the bully is much heavier than he is.

“Get someone your size!” A tiny voice says and the bully’s weight disappears. Steve sits up and blinks as another child tackles the bully and starts wailing on him, pudgy fists flying. 

“James Buchanan Barnes!” A tall woman steps over to the fray, and picks the boy up by his arm. As she drags him away, Steve takes his chance. He hops on the bully and tries his own brand of justice, punching with all his might on the bully’s back. 

He’s lifted up by his armpits and placed on his mother’s hip. 

“I think it’s time for a nap,” she laughs and carries him out of the play area. 

“Lemme at ‘im!” Steve says, squirming in her grip. His mother bounces him on her hip. 

“Not today, young man.” 

“I think mine needs his lunch,” James’ mother says with a laugh, sidling up to them with the boy on her hip. He’s pouting something fierce, little arms crossed from where he sits. Steve’s mother laughs again.

“Sarah,” she says with mirth, “I would shake your hand but I need to keep fists of fury here restrained.” 

James’ mother huffs out a laugh, “Winifred.” 

“Your damn brats!” A large hulking man stomps over, completely enveloping the bully’s hand with his large one. He glares daggers at them both, before he settles on Winifred. 

Sarah frowns, good humor gone. “ _My_ brat?” 

The man scowls at her. “Shut up lady, let the alphas talk.”

Sarah’s eyebrow twitches. She calmly places Steve back on the ground, making sure he’s got his balance, then rears back and punches the man in the face. He crumples to the ground. 

Winifred’s jaw drops and Steve cheers as much as his lungs will let him. James’ bad mood dissipates under his confusion about what just happened. 

“How about you worry about your own hellspawn. _Alpha_.” Sarah stands over him, hands on her hips. She looks at Winifred, whose eyes are wide as saucers. 

Winifred hurries to say; “Hey, we’re not all like that,” and raises her hands placatingly. 

“I know,” Sarah huffs, picking Steve back up. He’s grinning widely, shooting a look at his companion. James smiles and waves. Steve waves back. 

“Well, I guess it’s time for that nap. Have a good day Winifred.” 

“Winnie.” 

“What’s that?”

“My friends call me Winnie.” Winifred says. Sarah beams at her. 

“Alright then. Winnie.” 

***

“Please Mr. Barnes. Please. Please. Please. Please.” Steve looks up at Bucky’s father, dramatically pouting, huge blue eyes shining. 

George rolls his eyes, “that look stopped being cute years ago.” He looks at Bucky, who doesn’t even attempt to look cute, just hopeful, “did you ask your mother?” 

Bucky winces. 

“Of course you didn’t.” 

“Please?” Steve says again, still trying to look pitiful. George sighs.

“Yea alright.” Both boys cheer. 

“But don’t sneak any omegas in here.” 

“We won’t!” they both chime. George eyes them. 

“You both are getting to that age now,” Bucky grimaces because they’ve had this conversation before. Numerous times. “It’s natural to have some urges-”

“Dad!” Bucky says. Steve shifts uncomfortably. 

“Seriously boys. Listen, when I was a young inexperienced omega, I’d want any alpha sniffing around me. And let me tell you, your old man was pulling ‘em. This is the age-”

“Dad! Seriously!” Bucky says, sick to his stomach. Steve looks horrified.

George chuckles. “Alright, well have fun. Don’t stay up too late.” 

They nod eagerly, then race up the stairs. 

Bucky locks his bedroom door when they are safely inside, “Can’t risk another talk about ‘effective knotting condoms.’” 

Steve blanches, remembering the conversation clearly. Steve takes off his backpack then flops on the floor. He looks up at Bucky’s ceiling, the glow in the dark star stickers are still pressed on. 

Bucky’s had them since they were younger, and claims he just keeps forgetting to take them down. Steve knows Bucky still likes them, and he does too. 

Bucky’s rock (mineral) collection is showcased around the room. From his tan nightstand, across his full yet orderly bookcase, all the way to his tv stand. His comforter is a deep blue, having only recently changed them from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle covers of his early childhood. 

His desk is cluttered with science fiction merchandise. 

Bucky grabs a pillow with a wolfish grin and strikes the back of Steve’s head with it. Steve stumbles forward then spins around to glare at him. 

Though they’re probably too old for it, they quickly devolve into a pillow fight. 

Bucky takes the high ground, standing on his bed for leverage. Steve calls him a dirty cheater and joins him on the bed. 

They bounce on it loudly, stepping away from each other and then dancing into each other’s space to get a good shot in. 

Bucky almost has a foot of height over Steve, and he uses it to his advantage. He grabs the pillow out of his opponent’s hands and holds it over both their heads. 

“Jerk,” Steve says, reaching up on his tiptoes, chest brushing against Bucky’s to gain leverage. Bucky smirks at him until Steve trips him. 

He lands on his back with a loud, “Oof!” 

Steve instantly grabs the pillow Bucky dropped and triumphantly sits on his stomach. He raises the pillow above his head with a manic look, “You’re my prey.”

Bucky looks up at him, eyes wide. The pillow falls out of Steve’s grasp when Bucky abruptly rolls them. They fall to the floor. 

“Ow,” Steve says with a scowl as he sits up. He rubs at his head. 

Bucky smirks, “Oops!” 

Once they’ve collected themselves, Bucky puts on a horror movie, much to Steve’s chagrin. Before it starts, Steve blows up the air mattress he always sleeps on when he stays over. 

He’s thankful that it comes with an automatic pump and can inflate independently. 

Steve sits on the bed when it’s ready and his slight frame barely disturbs it, and Bucky lays on his stomach at the end of his. 

Steve hollers at every jump scare and mildly questionable shadow on screen. Bucky cackles at him each time, practically screaming with laughter. 

A sharp knock on the bedroom startles them both, “Quiet it down, boys.” 

“Sorry, Mr. Barnes!” Steve chirps. 

They decide to end the night there, having already been exhausted from a long day at school. 

Steve calls dibs on the shower first. He adjusts his shirt when he comes out of the bathroom. As most everything does, it falls over his shoulders and dwarfs his skinny waist. 

“Bathroom’s all yours,” he says. Silence. He looks up. Bucky crouchs on the floor, facing away from him, stock still. 

“What are you doing?” Steve says. 

Bucky turns around and Steve’s stomach swoops. A VHS tape is clenched in his hand.

“What is this?” Bucky says flatly. Steve makes a grab for it but Bucky stands, holding it out of reach. He looks up at the tape. Two Alphas are on the cover in a sensual embrace. 

“Why are you touching my stuff,” Steve grits out, reaching up to grab it. Bucky steps back. 

“I didn’t, it fell out.” He says, then flips over the case and reads aloud, “Evan’s kitchen is a dirty mess. He’s been working his meat over all day but he’s still left wanting for more. He hires Stan the chef to help him finish. He doesn’t expect the brawny Alpha, with biceps to spare, at his door. Evan is hungry, and he has a taste for sausage.” 

Bucky bursts out laughing, dropping the VHS and Steve snatches it up. He scowls at the other alpha and shoves the tape back into his backpack.

Bucky is still snickering, “Is that what gets you goin’? Two alphas goin’ at it?” 

“No!” Steve clenches his fist, face and neck flaming red. Bucky sobers.

“Steve, seriously. It’s ok. I didn’t know you’re a knotter that’s all,” he shrugs. 

“Don’t call me that,” Steve snaps. 

“Whatever, man,” Bucky says, then goes into his bathroom to shower too. Things are awkward when he exits the bathroom. Steve won’t really look at him, and Bucky, ever the chattermouth, has nothing to say. 

They get into bed quietly and Bucky cuts out the light before either of them can wish each other goodnight. 

In the dead of the night, Steve wakes up when the air mattress dips from added weight. He can smell Bucky slide under the covers beside him. He turns over and the silence is dense. 

Either him or Bucky, he’s not sure, closes the gap between them and they're flushed together chest to chest. A pause, then desperately, frantically, they rub against each other. 

The action is clumsy and their legs intertwine at awkward angles. Bucky pants into his ear as his hips stutter. Steve responds in kind, panting into the other alpha’s chest. 

The world stops as they both catch their breath. Then, Bucky bounces away as if burned. He hurries to climb back into his bed. 

Steve lays his head down and goes to sleep. 

At breakfast, they pretend like nothing happened. Bucky’s acting so normal that for a second Steve thinks what happened during the night was just a dream. 

But he knows Bucky well, and can pick up on the subtle flinches he makes when they accidentally make eye contact. 

Steve doesn’t bother to say anything about it, and leaves the house well fed. Mr. Barnes gave him enough leftovers for him _and_ his mother to have for later. He smiles and makes his way home. 

***

Bucky blows the paper off his straw directly into Steve’s face. The alpha’s face scrunches in displeasure. 

“How old are you again?” he grumbles. 

“69,” Bucky says, sticking his tongue out to be extra annoying. Steve rolls his eyes and kicks him under the table. Bucky kicks him back and they end up wrestling with their feet under the table. 

Steve’s kicks have some weight on them, puberty having left much more muscled and strong. But he’s still the same Steve, even if he can hold his own when they roughhouse. 

“Have you decided on your order?” 

Both of them jump at being caught out and look at the waiter in embarrassment.

“A burger and fries for me,” Steve recovers first. 

“Same here,” Bucky says, handing the menus to the waiter. Once the waiter walks off, they both break out into giggles. 

“Can’t take you anywhere,” Bucky says fondly, then his eyebrows jump, “oh check her out.” he says. 

“Who?” Steve says, snapping his neck to where Bucky is looking. 

“Subtle,” Bucky says. Steve looks back at him, face red.

“She’s hot isn’t she? You think she’s spent her heats with anyone?” 

“Bucky!” Steve hisses. Bucky looks unapologetic, grinning at him mischievously. 

“C’mon. Go ask her out,” Bucky wheedles. Steve kicks him under the table again. 

“How bout you go ask her out?” Steve bites out. 

“No can do. Dot’s been sniffin’ around me,” Bucky says smugly. 

Oh yes. Dot. 

Steve knows her well. Dot’s the kind of omega that takes no shit from anyone, and has one hell of a scowl when crossed. 

Dot wasn’t one to give alphas the time of day, but she’s pretty and smells good, so many of their classmates have a crush on her anyways. 

Against all odds, Bucky caught her attention. 

“Rub it in why don’t ya,” Steve says grumpily. 

“Oh come on, none of that. You have more options than you think. Plenty of omegas have been eyein’ you too.”

“Drop it,” Steve says. The waiter saves them from further argument, dropping their burgers off with a smile.

“Thank you,” they say at the same time. 

The waiter smiles at them, “You’re welcome. Let me know if you need anything.” 

After they finish up their meals, they decide to head to the arcade. Bucky laughs as he destroys Steve at skeeball, but pouts when the other alpha owns him at pinball. 

“It’s all about hand, eye coordination,” Steve smirks. Bucky rolls his eyes. They bounce around the arcade, playing games and getting 100s of tickets they can use to buy a pencil. 

“Man, I’m starvin!” Steve says, making his way toward the greasy smelling cafe. He’s already ordered pizza by the time Bucky sidles up next to him.

“We just ate!” Bucky gapes at him. 

Steve puffs out his chest dramatically, “I’m a growing alpha, Bucky. I gotta keep up my strength.”

Bucky pokes him in the stomach, making Steve collapse into giggles. 

“Sir, will that be all?” The cashier says in icy politeness. Sheepish, Steve rattles off the rest of his order; soda, popcorn, and a cup of ice cream. 

“You better share, pal,” Bucky says teasingly. 

Steve hums noncommittally but when they settle on a hightop near the bowling lanes, he puts the food in between them. 

They eat greedily, and most of it is gone when Steve licks the pizza grease from his fingers.

Bucky hits him with a wad of napkins, “Show some manners.” 

In revenge, Steve chews with his mouth open. As Bucky grimaces with disgust, Steve drizzles his ice cream on the popcorn. 

“Who the hell raised you?” Bucky says. 

“Sarah Rogers,” Steve says with a smirk, “And she’d clean your mouth out with soap if she heard you talkin’ like that.” 

“Sure.” Bucky says, face softening into a fond smile. He receives a tender look in return. Bucky parts his mouth, swallowing dryly. Steve leans forward, and Bucky’s found himself leaning over the table too. 

He comes to himself when someone gets a strike, and cheering is heard from a large family of 8. He clears his throat. 

“Best get back to the games, gotta whoop your ass some more,” Bucky snickers. He slides out of the barstool and begins walking away. He doesn’t hear Steve following. He rolls his eyes. 

“What? You still sore from losing skeeball?” he turns around, grin set in place.

Steve sits rigid in the chair, eyes blown, clawing at his neck, gasping for air. 

“Oh my god!” Bucky rushes over, pulling Steve out of the chair. Gripping his arms around him, Bucky performs the Heimlich maneuver, from what he remembers in class, pressing his fists into Steve’s stomach. 

It doesn’t work, Steve’s still gasping for air. He tries again, this time harder. A growl rips from his throat when a hand claps over his shoulder. 

“Man, get off him. He’s not choking. He’s allergic to something,” someone says. 

Then it takes two people, maybe three to hold him back as they get Steve help. 

He struggles against them, only stopping when he’s folded into an ambulance and the siren blares through his head as they race to the hospital. 

Bucky’s eyes water as Steve lays beside him in the hospital bed. He hardly recognizes the pale, sallow alpha as his friend. 

Steve twitches every now and again, but there hasn’t been much progress since they’d given him the steroids. 

He needs an adult, he thinks childishly. But their parents are a long way out, so it’s just him and the nurses. Time creaks by and with every hour, the dread in his chest grows. 

One of the nurses takes pity on him and gives him a coffee to drink. It tastes disgusting on his tongue, but helps keep him awake.

“Steve,” Bucky struggles to say, “Please wake up.” He doesn’t.

Bucky grips Steve’s hand tightly, then perches on the bed, looking down at his listless friend. He swallows. 

“I’m so fucking stupid,” he says, eyes filling with tears, ”I’m so stupid. Please wake up. I love you so much.” He brings Steve’s hand to his lips and places a tender kiss on the knuckles.

“I love you,” he repeats, throat sore from trying to hold back the tears but they stream down his face anyway. 

He kisses Steve’s forehead, once, twice, then his temple. Steve’s face gets wet with his tears, but he can’t find it in him to wipe them away.

His lips hover over Steve’s, but he doesn’t dare press their mouths together. Still, he can’t keep his eyes off of him, and cries over Steve’s prone form. 

“Don’t be stingy Barnes,” Steve slurs, eyes sliding open tiredly. 

Before Bucky can even react, Steve leans up as much as his strength will let him, and mashes their lips together. Bucky responds in kind, apologies and love on his lips as they deepen the kiss.

“Oh.”

Bucky snaps his head toward the door. His alpha mother stands in the door frame, eyebrows up at her forehead. Steve rolls his head to the side to look at her, but it’s obvious he’s already started to drift. 

Bucky’s hands fist in the sheets on either side of Steve, covering him protectively. He pushes past his fear and announces shakily, “I love Steve. And I refuse to hide it anymore.” 

It’s as if a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. His mother approaches them and he flinches. 

“My boys,” Winnie says softly. She caresses Bucky’s hair, then squeezes Steve’s hand. As if that’s all he needed to see, Steve slips into sleep again. 

“I’m proud of you,” she says. And suddenly Bucky’s in her arms. She stumbles with him until they’re sat on a chair.

“Mama!” he cries, then he’s sobbing into her chest, just as he used to when he was a pup. She shushes him, holding onto him fiercely. 

***

It doesn’t take long for the mission to go FUBAR. Him and Steve are separated from the rest of the team, hidden within the ruins of a building.

There’s a pause in the cacophony of gunshots, and explosives. Bucky looks at his first in command, and receives a nod in response. He reloads his sniper rifle and there’s a pause in the onslaught. 

Steve sprints from behind the ruins, Bucky on his six. They’re so close to their extraction point that they push past the exhaustion with renewed strength. 

“Steve!” he shouts, but it’s too late. They’re assaulted by gunfire, having to hustle behind fallen walls for safety. Bucky peaks over the ruins, returning the onslaught bullet by bullet. 

The back of his head tingles instinctively. 

“Get down!” he screams, but the explosive is coming at them too quickly for Steve to react. Bucky lays his body over him, clenching his teeth, praying to anyone who will listen that Steve makes it out ok. 

The explosive shakes the ground beneath them, and they roll over each other. Bucky lands heavily, face down. He pants out, scrabbling around for Steve in the thick dust. 

He feels his fingers pat around but when he looks they aren’t there. His whole arm isn’t there, and he’s bleeding and he’s found Steve but he looks dead, he’s not moving, oh god. 

Bucky crawls over with all his might with his other arm, using his legs as leverage. Bucky can hear a faint heartbeat through Steve’s armor. A distant calm falls on him as he lays his back over Steve’s chest. 

Bucky rolls over with a curse, throwing Steve over his shoulders. Bucky grips him with the only arm he has, and struggles to get to his feet.

His legs almost buckle from Steve's added weight but he pushes on. Their assaillants obviously think they’re dead, because Bucky’s able to drag Steve down the road without any return fire. 

He leaves a trail of blood in his wake, rivulets dripping from his blown open shoulder. 

Steve groans out, “Buck?” barely awake. Bucky shushes him as they get closer to the extraction point. 

There’s sudden shouting behind them and Bucky grits his teeth, temples sweating. They’ve found them, know they’re still alive, and plan to finish the job. He can smell the aggressive alphas close in on them.

His legs tremble with the effort to speed up, and he stumbles through the thicket until he reaches the edge of the water. 

A boat sits calmly by the dock. Bucky uses all his strength to hurl Steve into it. He kicks on the motor and it speeds away as he falls to his knees. 

The alphas pounce on him before he can reach the ground, shoving his face into the dirt. He looks at Steve’s prone form, floating away to safety, and passes out. 

He awakens to a stun gun to the gut. He’s strapped to a chair. He attempts to bust open the leather constraints but they don’t give. 

Alphas crowd around him. Some smirk, others scowl at him, but they all smell satisfied and aggressive. He glares at them nastily. 

One of the smirking alphas stands in front of him, “Good Morning, Sergeant Barnes.” 

Bucky grits his teeth, and struggles against the bondage. Throbbing pain like he’s never felt before explodes from his shoulder. 

He gasps in agony, and rolls his head toward the source of the pain. His shoulder is tightly wrapped in bandages, but there’s nothing else below. 

His head lists side to side as he fights down nausea. They hit him in the stomach with a baton. 

“We have a bit of a pet project for you,” the same alpha says, “I’ve heard about your skills. Very impressive. I wonder, are they taught or innate?” 

Bucky spits on him. The lead alpha rears back and punches him across the face. Bucky’s head snaps to the side, and blood lazily dribbles from his split lip.

The other alphas growl and snarl at him, two unholstering their batons. The lead alpha holds up a hand, and they instantly quiet.

“That’s ok,” he grins viciously, “That was just a little demonstration of his skills. Shot right in the face; perfect aim if I do say so myself,” he chuckles, “Maybe he’s born with it.”

“Maybe it’s Maybelline!” another alpha pipes up. The whole room titters in amusement. 

“Fuck you,” Bucky growls, looking the alpha dead in the eye. He gets the stun gun again, this time in his thigh. He grits his teeth, forcing himself not to scream. 

The alphas find it hilarious and collapse against each other in mirth. 

“Talk to you later,” the alpha gives him a lazy salute and they all hustle out of the room. 

They torture him for days. 

Bucky holds out, thinking about Steve and how much he loves him. Bucky clings to the thought that he may live to see him again. 

Bucky has no idea how many days, or weeks, or months have passed, but after what seems like ages, four alphas march into his cell. 

They watch silently as another alpha unstraps him from the chair, guns and batons at the ready should he try anything.

A cot is haphazardly thrown toward him, and he barely has enough energy to move out of the way. 

He’s left in his sweaty uniform, and his feet hurt from wearing his boots for so long. 

He’s curled up on the cot, when the lead alpha, who he’s taken to calling Asshole, comes into his cell snickering quietly to himself. “Brought you a treat.” 

Bucky sits up with a groan. Another alpha stomps into the room, holding a young girl’s arm in a tight grip. She struggles against him, and the alpha throws her into the cell. 

Asshole laughs and roughly yanks off her dress, she’s not wearing anything underneath, “Enjoy!” 

The alphas exit the cell, slamming the door behind them. 

The girl looks at him through her fiery red hair, eyes wide in terror, and attempts to cover herself up. She can’t be more than 14. She’s in heat. 

“It’s ok,” Bucky rasps to her, “I won’t hurt you.” 

She obviously doesn’t believe him, silently crouching in the corner furthest away from him. Bucky feels around for some bread he had squirreled away. 

“Here,” he says quietly, voice rusty from disuse. The girl eyes it warily, but hunger wins out. 

Cautiously, she crawls over to him. She quickly swipes the bread from his hand and bolts back to her corner. 

The girl barely pauses for breath as she demolishes the food. Bucky’s not sure how long she’ll be in his cell, perhaps the length of her heat, but he vows to feed her his share of food. 

“What’s your name?” Bucky slurs, as friendly as he can manage through his exhaustion. She eyes him warily. 

“My name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he pants out, ”but friends call me Bucky.”

His dry and cracked lips pull painfully as he tries to smile at her. 

“Natalia,” she says quietly. 

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky says. They sit in silence. She watches him for hours, barely blinking. He avoids looking at her, so she won’t be scared. 

Within the enclosed cell, the scent of Natalia’s heat becomes more potent. 

She seems to notice too, because she flinches every time he moves. 

The smell is overwhelming, but Bucky’s not turned on in the least. She smells like a child, not to mention distressed, and it makes him nauseated. 

The fact that they think he would be interested, that he would force himself on her, has him vibrating with rage. 

“You motherfucker!” Asshole shouts, barreling into the cell. Natalia glares as he enters. Bucky admires her bravery, but he desperately wants to tell her to stand down. 

“Barnes!” Asshole barks, stomping past Natalia to glare down at Bucky, “You don’t smell that? Her tight little cunt begging for your knot? You too much of a knotter to get it up for this bitch?” 

Bucky glowers, “Fuck you.” Asshole kicks him. 

“No, fuck _her,_ ” he snarls. 

Natalia’s small fists are clenched tight and Bucky shushes her. She braces herself on the wall shakily, bottom flat against the ground. 

Asshole sneers at Bucky, “You’re gonna let her do that? This bitch needs to be punished.” 

Bucky grits his teeth.

“Present to Barnes, or I’ll beat him to within an inch of his life,” Asshole barks. 

“Don’t,” Bucky croaks to her, “It’s ok.” He tries to smile at her before he takes a punch to his head. He feels as if his brain’s exploded, and for a moment his vision blurs. 

Asshole makes good on his promise, kicking and punching Bucky until all he can do is ball himself up on the cot in agony. 

Asshole drags Natalia out of the room. Bucky tries to get his legs to work but he can barely move, let alone crawl after her. 

Bucky can barely sleep as time ticks by and Natalia isn’t returned to the cell. His captors seem to be watching him at times, randomly, as if there’s some surveillance in the room. 

He eats, to gain his strength, and does one armed push ups when he knows he won’t be caught. 

He steadily becomes more balanced and soon he can pump his right arm up and down as if he still has his left arm. 

The door to the cell slams open and Asshole saunters in. Bucky sits up, and scowls at him. Natalia is held in Asshole’s grasp, wearing a tattered dress riddled with holes. 

She’s in heat again. Asshole tosses her towards the cot, and crosses his arms. 

“Last chance Barnes, or you’ll have this little slut’s blood on your hands,” he slams the door closed. 

“Alpha!” Natalia cries, stumbling into his chest. Surprised, Bucky wraps his arm around her. She trembles, clutching onto his dirty shirt. As she shakes against him, he knows it’s time. 

“I have a plan,” he murmurs in her ear, “You have no reason to, but please trust me with this. We’re leaving,” Bucky says, hushed.

She looks up at him, eyes wide.

“We have to play pretend,” Bucky croaks, devastated that he’s resorting to this, “just pretend. I swear.” 

Natalia seems to catch on, pulling up the hem of her dress. Stomach rolling and tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, he helps her out of it. Bucky flicks open his fly, leans over her, and waits.

Natalia looks up at him, face calm and trusting. He swallows. 

Asshole rushes through the cell door, knocking it open with a loud bang. “Finally,” he crows, looking extremely pleased. 

Other alphas file in, hooting and hollering with a camera rolling. Unable to help it, Bucky growls low in his throat. 

Asshole just cackles, “Chill Barnes, that sweet pussy is all yours.” 

Bucky looks down at Natalia and she gives him a tiny nod. That’s all he needs to see. 

Bucky jumps to his feet as if possessed, knocking Asshole with all his might to the ground. 

Before the other alphas can react, Bucky pummels them with his only fist, knocking their guns to the ground. 

They fall with a clatter, and Bucky takes his chance to elbow the alphas viciously. Natalia comes in with the assist, having put her dress back on, swiping up the guns and handing them to him. 

He stomps on the recorder as hard as he can, and it explodes under his weight.

He empties his clip into the men once he gets the hang of shooting one handed, not having time to tell Natalia to shut her eyes. 

He’s surprised when she attacks the other alphas with a stun gun. She fights like a wildcat as they run through the dark corridor. 

They make a great team, Bucky barreling into their captors on pure adrenaline, dropping the men like flies and Natalia using the stun gun as the alphas collapse, making sure they stay down. He can hear growling within the walls, more alphas chasing after them. 

But Bucky’s instincts tell him they’re going in the right direction, and his suspicions are confirmed when he smells the outside. 

He pushes through the closest door, making sure Natalia is with him, and flinches at the bright sun he hasn’t seen in months. 

“Bucky!” he hears. Bucky squints through the light. Steve stands tall, and he’s brought the cavalry with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: In the initial outline, this chapter was supposed to be a fluffy interlude but I oopsied lol
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! We're back in present time next chapter. 
> 
> Inspiration: "It's ok to be a glow stick: Sometimes we have to break before we shine." - Jadah Sellner


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So very thankful to you for reading this!!! 
> 
> Also: I haven't gotten any more spam comments so that's good.

“How much?” an alpha says from the entrance of the alley way. Clint looks up at him with hooded eyes. He considers, just for a second, but he hurts, he’s tired, and, above all, he doesn’t want to. 

Clint watches the alpha approach, mind already made up about having him, and is suddenly filled with such anger, such rage, he almost chokes on it.

“How ‘bout 20 for head? You ain’t even gotta move,” the alpha gets closer.

Clint gropes along the ground until he finds a rock. It feels heavy in his palm as he clenches it. 

The alpha is none the wiser, getting closer with his hands in his pockets. 

Clint chucks the rock as hard as he can and it flies true. The alpha yelps as the rock smashes into his nose. 

“Crazy bitch!” The alpha clutches his nose, voice pinched.

Clint grabs another rock and waves it dangerously in the air. The alpha curses again, then staggers away, hand clapped over his nose. 

Clint takes a shaky breath once the alpha has gone. 

When a few hours pass, Clint grabs up his pillow case and visits a convenience store he passed earlier. The brightly lit interior makes him flinch as the door opens with a chime. 

He blinks until the spots are cleared from his eyes and looks around. There’s an omega cashier behind a glass counter that doesn’t look up when he enters.

Feeling empowered by the inattention, Clint begins to look around the store. The aisles are crowded in brightly covered treats and drinks.

It takes him a long time to settle on what he wants but in the end he grabs a sandwich, water, chips, and a chocolate bar for good measure. 

It’s a bit of a balancing act, but he brings his choices up to the cashier.

Clint shifts as he sits his items on the counter, a bit nervous about handling the transaction by himself.

The cashier greets with an incoherent grunt as he begins to scan each item. 

“Cash or Credit?” The cashier asks after a dense silence. 

“Um,” Clint stammers, then hurriedly reaches into his pocket to grab his coins.

In his panic, they spill all over the counter, rolling under the glass divider. 

The cashier’s face hardens, and Clint wants to pick up the money, but most of it is too far from his reach. 

“Dude this job is hard enough. Quit fucking with me.”

Clint watches helplessly as the cashier sweeps the coins into a pile on the counter. The cashier holds out a hand in a ‘gimme’ motion.

Confused, Clint attempts to shake the cashier’s hand in greeting through the small hole in the glass.

The man snatches his hand back before Clint can make contact. 

“Where’s the rest?” He demands, losing the little patience he had.

“Is- it, Is it not enough?” Clint chews on his lip, shifting minutely where he stands. He’s tense now, and his back is screaming at him to sit down. 

The cashier points at the little screen Clint hadn’t noticed before, “Your total is $23.15” 

Clint hurriedly nods. The cashier glares at him, “You gave me _5 dollars_.” 

“Oh,” Clint swallows. He reaches to gather his money, though he feels like it's useless, when the cashier stops his hand. 

“Don’t reach under the glass,” he snaps, then gathers all the coins himself and pushes them toward Clint. 

Not wanting to waste the man’s time anymore, Clint palms the mound and slides the coins into his pillow case.

He cringes when the dirt and grime on the fabric brushes against the counter. It swings heavily in his grip. 

“Thanks,” he nods, though he can feel the corner of his eyes prickle with tears. He’s so hungry it hurts.

Clint’s pushing through the door when he hears, “Wait.”

He freezes, the cashier sounds unhappy. Would he want the money back? Clint hesitantly turns around. 

“Follow me,” the cashier says, and comes around the counter. 

Clint hesitates, but the impatient look he’s met with kicks him into high gear. He’s led into an aisle of sweets. 

“We throw these out at night,” the cashier says, pointing toward a donut case. Clint stares longingly at all the different flavors that he can’t afford. 

He startles when, without warning, he’s handed a cardboard box. He fumbles to hold it in his free hand, then looks at the cashier in confusion. 

“Pick what you want, they’re going in the trash anyway,” he grunts.

“How mu-”

“They’re free,” the cashier says shortly. 

Clint can’t believe what he’s hearing. Before the man can change his mind, Clint’s already opened the glass case to look at his options. 

He gladly puts a few chocolate donuts in the box, then grabs the others randomly. They all smell heavenly. 

He closes the box, and for good measure, puts a few stickers around the sides. After turning his hand slightly to check for stability, he approaches the counter hesitantly. 

“Thank you,” he says, voice wavering slightly. 

“Open your.. bag,” the cashier says.

Clint tenses, he thought the donuts were free. Now the cashier would take one of his items to make up for it.

It takes some maneuvering, but Clint grips one edge of the pillowcase to allow the other side to flop open. 

He almost drops it when the cashier puts in two water bottles. He looks down at them in astonishment, they’re heavy and cold. 

He looks up again, to express his thanks, but the cashier’s busying himself with the shelving behind the counter, back turned. 

Taking the hint, Clint leaves quickly. 

He shivers, being in the store has warmed him and now the night air is almost unbearable. The chill in the air is a sharp bite on his cheeks and nose.

Teeth chattering, he makes his way to the alley he’d sat in before. An alpha is digging through the dumpster when he arrives.

Clint winces, and tries to quietly creep away. Before he can even reach the mouth of the alleyway, the alpha’s head pops up from the garbage. 

Clint steps back once, twice, as the alpha straightens completely. Wrinkles have overtaken his weathered face, and hands.

His outfit of sweatpants and a hoodie is caked with dirt. A blue hat rests on his grey hair. 

Before Clint can inch away more the alpha says, “This your spot?” voice clear and strong in the chilled night air.

Clint vehemently shakes his head.

“I won’t hurt ya,” the alpha says, wrinkles pulled into a smile. Clint doesn’t say anything, just fists his pillow case. 

There’s an awkward pause, and then a huge grin of realization blooms on the alpha’s face. 

“When ya due?” The old alpha positively beams at him, aged hands resting on his narrow hips in excitement. 

“I don’t know,” Clint stammers out. The alpha’s face doesn’t change.

“Congrats to ya anyways!” He smiles to himself, “My grandnephew is expecting! A boy!” 

“Congrats,” Clint returns clumsily, but genuine.

After a moment, the alpha shuffles away in the opposite direction, then throws over his shoulder, “Take care of yourself! And the baby!” 

Once the alleyway is empty, Clint gingerly reclines against the dumpster in exhaustion and pain. 

As the sun begins to creep over the horizon, he knows he doesn’t have much time to sleep before he’s asked to leave. 

Clint quickly eats the donuts and, unable to stop himself, cleans out half of the box. Satiated, he places the pillowcase over his lap, hugs it, and nods off. 

Clint startles awake at the sensation of something crawling on his ankle. His eyes snap open and dart to his leg. 

He’s not feeling well enough to run for the hills, but his heart’s doing enough of that for him. 

As his eyes become less bleary, he can take in more details. 

Black, is the first thing he notices.

Fur, comes second. 

At full wakefulness, he realizes there’s a kitten crawling over him. The animal obviously tried to get into his donut box, noticeable claw and bite marks riddled throughout. 

The tiny fuzzball begins nipping and clawing at his shoe laces. Though he’s tired beyond all reason, Clint can’t help but smile. Cautiously, he reaches out a hand but can’t stretch far enough to pet it. 

The kitten seems to pick up on his efforts and crawls over his lap, mewing softly. He tentatively brushes a hand over the soft, though dirty, fur. Playfully, the kitten turns on it’s back to swat at his fingers. 

Only then does Clint get a better look at the kitten. She’s incredibly skinny and dirty, and white crust sticks to her eyes. 

His stomach sinks; she must be sick and he doesn’t think donuts are going to save her. 

He rearranges the contents of his dirty pillowcase until his underwear sits at the top.

Gently, he lifts the kitten, who goes without fuss, into the pillow case. She mews from within, and he silently promises to get her help. 

“Excuse me,” he says tentatively, to the first person who bothers to look at him.

“I don’t have any change,” the person bites out, then continues on their way. 

Clint flinches but hurries on. He gets the same response from multiple strangers until an older woman, an alpha, stops next to him with a kind smile.

“What do you need help with, baby?”

Clint swallows. Her tone is so kind, so gentle, it's suddenly hard to talk. The woman looks at him patiently, letting him gather his thoughts.

“She’s sick,” he says, voice breaking slightly. 

The woman places a steadying hand on his shoulder, and he unconsciously leans into her comfort. 

Not wanting to risk breaking down if he speaks more, he thrusts the case toward her. 

After a moment, she peers inside.

“Oh isn’t she precious,” the lady says without pause, “Poor little thing _is_ sick. I know just the thing.” 

Like a woman on a mission, she’s guiding him through the public, checking back behind her to make sure Clint is keeping up.

Not too many minutes have passed when she stops again, outside of a building that reads:

**_PAWSome Animal Hospital_ **

“Thank y-”

The woman’s already disappeared in the crowd. 

Clint swallows and pushes through the door. All the different scents and smells have his instincts going haywire, but he thinks about the little kitten, and pushes on. 

He hurries over to the counter. 

“How can I help you sir?” 

Clint places his donut box and pillow case on the floor. He lifts the kitten out, careful to keep a firm hold as she squirms, and places her on the counter. 

Before he can stammer out his request, the woman he’s closest to at the desk coos at the kitten. She looks at Clint questionably. 

“I found her, she, well, I was sleeping, then,” he struggles to explain. 

“No worries at all, sir. She’s in good hands here at PAWSome Animal Hospital,” says the specialist brightly.

“I don’t have any money,” he says, devastated. 

“It is of no consequence my friend!” Someone booms behind him, then a large hand has his shoulder in a loose grip. 

Clint jumps and spins around. A man towers over him with a beaming smile.

He looks like he could dwarf Steve and Bucky and he’s an _omega._ Clint’s eyes widen, before he remembers his initial mission. 

“You can help?” he asks, tentatively, to the omega. 

“It would be my pleasure,” the omega says with a grin. He sweeps the kitten up in his large hands, and beckons Clint to follow him. 

Clint does so with relief. The omega, who introduces himself as Thor, leads him into a room that reminds him of the room Dr. Wiffle had given him a check up in. 

Thor’s silent as he works, but there’s an openness to him that relaxes Clint. 

When he finishes he says, “How lucky she was to encounter such a kind man.”

Clint flushes at the praise, said so sincerely and casually. 

After a pause, Thor says, “I ask a favor of you.” 

Clint pales.

“It would rest heavily on my conscience if I allow you to leave in such a way,” Thor says gravely. 

Confused, Clint looks down at his simple outfit, pillow case, and box of donuts. 

“Where do you plan to rest your head tonight?” Thor says. 

Clint refuses to tell the truth to someone so earnest, but the subtle sharpness in Thor’s blue eyes tells him he won’t get away with a lie either, “I have a room.”

Thor eyes him, shooting a subtle look at his attire ruined by sleeping by a dumpster. 

Ashamed, Clint says, “I’m lost.” 

A quick, almost indiscernible, shine of anguish flashes in Thor’s eyes before he says, “We all are at one point in time. Allow me to help?” 

“Ok,” Clint says. 

Thor’s face lights up and he finishes the rest of his examination. 

Before Clint knows it, the kitten is safely tucked away somewhere in the hospital, and he’s holding on for dear life as Thor speeds down the road. 

Thor’s face is serene, as if the car isn’t about to lift off. 

“What a joy it is to have a little one,” he says, _t_ _aking his eyes off the road_ to look at Clint’s growing stomach.

Clint doesn’t respond, too focused on staying in his seat. 

“My Jane and I have plans to try soon,” Thor chuckles fondly, then tosses him a saucy wink, “I’m sure it won’t be long until it takes.” 

Clint fidgets, uncomfortable, until Thor finally slows down to make a right hand turn into a motel parking lot. 

Clint waits for his heart to climb back into his chest before he follows the other omega. Thor is none the wiser, whistling to himself on the way. 

At the counter, Thor orders a room for as many nights it takes for Clint to, “Find his way.”

Clint protests, but Thor won’t hear it. The large omega engulfs each of his shoulders, with his huge hands, locking Clint in place.

“Take care, my friend,” he says sincerely, and gravely. He only drops his hands when Clint nods his head. 

Thor’s smile is a beam of light as he hands him the room key. He waves once, then he’s on his way without a backward glance. 

Clint blinks down at the key, feeling whip lashed. He shakes his head and finds the room. It won’t hurt to spend a night there, he figures, if only to rest his aching back and drink some water. 

It takes him a few tries, but he manages to unlock the door and hustle inside. 

He’s on immediate high alert when the door closes after him. There’s something disconcerting about the room, something that raises his hackles, that he can’t pinpoint. 

The room is clean, grey carpet underneath a dresser, bed, and side table. After he puts his pillow case on the dresser, he sits on the bed fully clothed with a groan.

The bed squeaks slightly, but it’s nothing that he hasn’t been used to. 

In fact, a lot of the room feels a bit _too_ familiar. 

When he shifts minutely, the smell that comes up from the mattress is enough for him to startle out of bed. 

Memories flood back, from when he’d been held captive, and he takes a step back. 

He stares down at the mattress. A thin grey blanket and beige pillow stares back up. 

Clint grits his teeth. The mattress, this room, is harmless. 

He forces himself to sit, then lay down, then, after a few minutes of self coaching, close his eyes. 

He only manages to do so for a couple of minutes. 

Clint stares at the doorknob, then forces himself to close his eyes again. He can feel the doorknob staring back at him. 

Unable to hold back the urge anymore, he rolls out of bed and checks the door. 

After fiddling with the key, it opens under his touch. Uncaring about the frigid cold, he steps through the door, just to show himself that he can, then returns to the bed. 

He’s only able to catch, at most, 30 minutes of sleep before he has to check again. 

Getting up and laying down is so exhausting, so frustrating, that he mutters a few choice words to himself. 

After the 6th time that he’s tried the door knob, unlocked it, and took a few steps outside, he doesn’t attempt to sleep again. 

Clint sits on the bed quietly and reaches a realization. 

He’s made a huge mistake.

Now that he thinks about it, really thinks about it, his accusations to Steve make no sense. 

His face warms as he realizes the conclusions he’s jumped to, embarrassed and ashamed. 

Steve must be furious with him. There’s no way he can go back now. He’s betrayed the alpha, when he’s only been kind and generous.

Clint cringes to himself. He’s all out of options for his pup. Maybe if he crawls back, begs for forgiveness, Steve will let him stay. 

It’s worth a shot.

Determined to be well rested when he apologizes, Clint lays back down on the mattress. It’s soft, and he’s annoyed that he can’t sleep on it well. 

As he drifts, the niggling feeling to check the door overpowers his sleepiness. 

“Damn,” Clint says roughly, stomps over to the door, and yanks at it to get outside. 

He flinches against the cold but pushes forward. Movement out of his peripheral makes him jolt. 

Clint looks over carefully, just in case the person out this late is trouble. 

The stranger is completely covered, hood pulled up over their head. But Clint knows that coat. 

The wind, blowing the person’s scent backward, confirms it for him. 

Bucky. 

He hasn’t noticed Clint, instead pushing toward his own room door with single minded focus.

Clint follows after him, taking two steps to match each one of Bucky’s wide steps. 

The wind blows Clint’s scent away, and he hopes he remains undetected. 

He’s about 2 feet away when Bucky abruptly stops, his coat pulling taut against his tensed muscles. 

Clint flinches when he turns around with a growl.

Bucky’s stubble has gotten thick and unruly, his eyes are bloodshot and half lidded, and his face is grey. 

Bucky sniffles once, then his entire face explodes into alarm. 

“Clint!” he yelps, accidentally tossing his room key to the ground. 

Clint continues forward, heart hammering as he ignores the panicked expression he’s receiving. 

Bucky snatches up the key but doesn’t make a run for it. 

“Bucky,” Clint says, aiming for Steve’s stern voice but failing miserably.

Still, he stands as tall as he can, resolute that he isn’t going back without Bucky. 

Bucky takes him in, dirty winter coat, a few bumps and scrapes from sleeping on the ground, dirty pants and shoes and frowns. 

“Are you ok?”

Clint nods, though he’s not completely sure if he is. Bucky’s eyes widen in alarm again. 

“Is Steve with you?” He pokes his head around Clint, looking this way and that. Clint shakes his head. 

Bucky frowns, “What happened?” 

Clint doesn’t know how to even begin to explain. 

Instead, he swallows down his guilt and says, “Steve misses you.”

The alpha flinches, and his grip on the room key tightens, “I’m not sure how you got here, but you need to go back.”

Clint doesn’t move. 

Bucky sighs, “Maybe tomorrow though. Do you have some place to stay?” 

Clint resists the urge to look at the room Thor bought him. 

“No,” he lies.

Bucky sighs again, scratching at his growing beard. His mouth parts, once, twice before he says, “I have a room.”

“Ok.” 

Bucky’s movements are stilted, shoulders tense, as he approaches the room. Clint follows tentatively, worried he may startle the alpha into running. 

Bucky unlocks the door quietly, and the warm air that escapes feels good on Clint’s icy face. He hadn’t even realized how cold he was. 

The room looks much the same to Clint’s besides the two twin sized beds sitting harmlessly in the dimly lit room. 

He enters slowly, instantly feeling better than when he’d been in his quiet single. One of the beds, closest to the door, has it’s sheets twisted up. 

Clint sits on the other bed carefully and looks at Bucky. The alpha is silent, standing by the door. His expression is pinched, and sad. 

“Just, uh, come outside if you need anything,” Bucky says. He turns to leave. 

Clint frowns in confusion, “There’s two beds.”

He can’t believe he needs to state the obvious. Bucky shuts the door, presumably to keep the heat from escaping, but leans against the wall, careful not to block the only exit.

“I’m dangerous,” Bucky says into the silence. 

Clint immediately shakes his head. 

Bucky’s nothing like his Claimer. Bucky’s never hit him, never hurt him. 

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Bucky says softly. 

Clint doesn’t know what he’s done, but he also doesn’t care. He wants to say so, but the words are caught in his throat.

“There’s two beds,” he says again. 

Bucky looks at him for a moment, rubbing a hand through his greasy hair, and eventually sits on the other bed. 

Clint hadn’t noticed before, but now that they’re sitting across from each other, Bucky smells so strongly of distress it makes him sneeze. 

Bucky won’t look at him. Instead, he stares at his own hands where they rest on his thighs. A dense silence follows. 

Clint stares at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says finally. 

Clint shakes his head, unsure what to say. He wants to comfort, bring back the playful Bucky, but he doesn’t know how. 

Nausea settles in the pit of his stomach as the distress worsens in the enclosed space. 

He suddenly understands how much it must have bothered Bucky, to smell that so often, for so long. 

A plan begins to form. He’s conflicted, uncertainty making his heart hammer out of his chest, and blood rush in his ears. 

Bucky’s despair is palpable as he folds in on himself in misery. 

With that, Clint’s mind is made up. 

He climbs to his feet, ignoring how his body aches in protest. 

He shuffles over the space between them and sits within arm’s reach of Bucky. The alpha eyes him warily, leaning away. 

Before Clint can think of it more, he unzips his own dirty coat. 

Bucky jumps away, “No!”

Clint grasps his metal hand in trembling fingers and pulls it toward himself. Bucky lets him, stiff as a board.

Clint breathes out shakily, and closes the gap between them. He watches himself push the metal fingers until they’re splayed over his growing belly, then looks up at the alpha. 

Bucky’s eyes widen, staring down to where his hand envelops the roundness. His mouth parts, and he swallows loudly. 

“Can you feel that?” Clint asks quietly. 

Eyes red, Bucky nods. Clint presses the fingers firmly in suggestion, before he gently lets go. 

Bucky holds on for a moment more, wetness gathering in his eyes.

He swipes a finger across them, before placing both hands on his lap. 

“I’m tired,” Clint says. 

He can feel Bucky’s stare as he climbs back into his bed. 

After a few moments of silence, Clint can hear the alpha get settled in his bed too. 

Bucky cuts out the light.

“Good night,” Clint says softly. 

“Night,” Bucky croaks into the darkness.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again!! 
> 
> Inspiration: “The struggle you’re in today is developing the strength you need tomorrow.” - Robert Tew


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am enjoying writing this, and I'm glad I can share it with others!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

Bucky and sleep haven’t been friends in quite a long time, and last night was no different. He mostly drifted, unable to quiet his mind, and unwilling to have a nightmare around Clint. 

He rolls over to look at the clock. _7:30AM_ it reads, a time Bucky hasn’t seen in ages. 

Soft snoring floats from the bed next to him. Clint’s back is facing him, and Bucky can’t even imagine how exhausted he must be. 

Bucky lays there quietly, thoughts racing, until Clint begins to stir.

When he pushes himself in a sitting position, looking completely wrung out, Bucky clears his throat, “Guess we better go back.” 

Clint nods silently. 

“You can use the bathroom first.” 

Silence.

Bucky’s not the biggest conversationalist when he’s tired, so he understands why Clint isn’t talking, but the omega hasn’t reacted at all. 

He opens his mouth to repeat himself but Clint cuts him off. 

“I have a room,” he says into his lap quietly, tensing slightly. 

“Oh.” Bucky says. 

He curses himself for the awkward silence that falls, but doesn’t know what to say. He hopes his scent, devoid of anger, is enough.

“I need to go get my things,” Clint says quietly, crawling out of bed.

Relieved that Clint has more than the clothes on his back, Bucky nods.

“Uh,” Bucky says in the silence, then clamps his mouth shut. 

Clint pauses, halfway to the door, and looks at him in question. 

Bucky thinks up a lie, anything that won’t betray the fact that he doesn’t want Clint to go alone, doesn’t want him out of his sight. 

“I can help you carry your stuff?” Bucky says instead, and breathes out subtly when Clint nods. 

Bucky locks the door after them, following after Clint.

He’s walking slowly, and Bucky hopes that isn’t because he’s hurting. 

Luckily the trip is short, and Clint unlocks the door quickly. The room looks similar to his, besides only having one bed. 

Bucky looks around the room for luggage but doesn’t see any. 

Clint gathers up a dirty pillowcase and it swings heavily from his fist. With his other hand, he flicks open a cardboard box. 

Bucky watches silently as Clint licks his lips, and picks up a donut. He nibbles on it happily, then turns to Bucky.

“If you’re hungry,” he offers, stepping back from the box a bit. 

Bucky is hungry, but he’s also extremely confused. He doesn't mind indulging for now though, figuring there’s plenty of time to ask questions. 

Bucky reaches in, grabs the closest donut, and immediately drops it. The donut is hard as bricks and Clint’s eating one ravenously, as if they're actually _good._

Bucky swallows. What the hell happened?

Clint looks at him questionably.

“I’m good for now,” Bucky says weakly.

Clint nods, none the wiser.

Thankfully, after they’ve checked out, he throws the box of donuts away. 

Bucky knows he should call Steve to come pick them up, but he’s too much of a coward. His phone is in his pocket, dead to the world and, that’s where it will stay. For the time being. 

Instead, he guides them to the bus station, cursing himself for putting Clint through this because he can’t face his own mistakes. 

The omega seems content either way, sitting on the bench as they wait for the bus. 

Bucky’s regret deepens when they’re settled in their seats. 

“The wheels on the bus go round and round! Round and Round!” 

“Wound and Wound!”

His eye twitches, trying to tune out the mother and child regaling the entire bus with their singing/screaming. 

Clint sits in the window seat beside him, leaning into his side closely, a little too closely. But Bucky can tell he’s uncomfortable so he allows the contact. 

“God _damn,_ shut the hell up!” A stranger yells from the back of the bus. 

Bucky can feel Clint tense beside him, and before he can stumble through an awkward attempt of comfort, Clint’s looking behind himself. 

Bucky’s eye brows shoot up in surprise when he glares daggers at the stranger. 

“What the hell ya’ lookin at?” the stranger demands. 

Clint scowls at him and receives a nasty snarl in return. He finches, bravado leaving him. 

Bucky abruptly turns around, glare set in place. The stranger immediately clams up, pretending nothing happened. 

The mother and child don’t make a peep after that and Bucky feels guilty with how relieved that makes him. 

***

Bucky swallows down his nerves as they walk up the driveway. He enters quietly but Steve must smell them because he comes barreling down the hall like a bat out of hell. 

Even though he’s fully dressed, it’s obvious that he had been sleeping. His hair sticks up at odd angles, and he has pillow marks against his face. His shirt looks like a balled up piece of paper.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” Steve barks, coming to a stop in front of them. Bucky gives him a helpless smile. 

Though he smells angry, Steve brings a hand up to cradle his face. Bucky steps away. 

Steve glares at him, gripping his wrist tightly. 

“Let me kiss you, dammit,” he growls. 

Bucky looks at him sadly, shaking his head, “Maybe we should take a break.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow, looking unimpressed, “No.”

Before Bucky can protest, Steve pulls him into a kiss, arm wrapped around the other alpha to push them closer. Bucky melts into the embrace, holding on just as tight.

When Steve steps away, he scowls at him, “You. Are. In. So. Much. Trouble.”

Fear begins to float in the air, and they both look over at Clint. 

At their stares, Clint flinches, body coiled with tension. 

“Oh Clint,” Steve says sadly, “I’m not mad at you.”

Clint looks up at him, making eye contact. 

“Can I hug you?” Steve says. 

Clint holds out his arms in response. Steve steps into them, holding on for a long moment.

After the hug ends, Steve says, “I have something for you.”

Clint gulps. 

Steve’s eyes widen, and he rushes to explain, “It’s just your phone.” 

Steve runs a hand through his hair, looks at them both with a hint of warning in his eyes, and leaves to get it. 

Once Steve’s out of the room, Bucky asks, “Wanna help make brunch?” 

Clint nods, a soft smile on his face. 

In the kitchen, Bucky pulls out the ingredients after he ushers Clint into a chair. 

Each seat suddenly has removable cushions on them. Bucky snorts at his partner, though he’s glad Clint has something soft to sit on. 

He gives Clint the easy task of chopping strawberries, unwilling to give him anything more strenuous.

Clint cuts them in focused silence, dropping the finished pieces in a bowl. 

They both startle when Steve appears in the kitchen, having not heard him at all. 

He sets a box in front of Clint and sits beside him. Clint eyes the box warily, as if the phone will bite him. 

Steve gives him an encouraging smile, and after a brief hesitation, Clint opens the box.

There’s only one button at the bottom of the sleek phone. Steve presses on it, and the black screen lights up.

Delicious smells of brunch serve as a backdrop to Steve’s lesson on the phone. Clint follows along carefully, though he’s a bit overwhelmed. 

At the end of the demonstration, Steve blushes, “I put a location finder on it. That means I’ll be able to know where you are when you carry it.”

Clint stares at Steve, surprised. He’s grateful that he would bother to do that. 

“You can turn it off,” Steve stammers out, reaching to grab the phone. Clint pushes it out of his reach. 

“I don’t want to,” he says quietly. 

Steve beams at him, knocking the back of his hand against Clint’s gently. He smiles back shyly. 

“Brunch is ready,” Bucky says softly, cutting through the silence that follows. 

Clint barely pauses for breath as he swallows down the omelet, pancakes, and fruit. 

Bucky smiles at him, smelling pleased. 

Once they finish, and Steve’s arms are elbow deep in dish water, he sighs. “I have to go to work,” his eyes narrow, craning his neck to look behind himself. 

“After we talk,” he says darkly, glaring at Bucky. 

***

While Bucky’s getting in trouble, Clint relocates to his room. He’s never been happier to be within 4 walls. 

The room is as he left it, besides the purple blanket that’s a bit more rucked up than usual. 

Though he’s dirty, he can’t resist sitting down, for just a moment, on the soft bed. 

Clint breathes in the strong scent coming from the bed, sniffling lightly until he recognizes the mellow smell. Steve’s scent emanates from the blanket. 

The scent is so strong that Steve must have laid on it for a significant amount of time, if not slept there.

The smell calms him so much he can’t help but drape it around his shoulders.

Clint holds onto it, guilt resurfacing. He hasn’t been able to apologize yet. 

He startles when there’s sudden loud, rapid, knocks on the door. 

“Actually Clint, I have some laundry I need to do in here.” Steve says, sounding panicked. 

Clint looks around. He doesn’t see any dirty clothing. 

“Ok,” he says, confused. 

Steve rushes in, eyes darting to the purple blanket wrapped around Clint’s shoulders. 

He turns into a tomato, flushing from the tips of his ears to the base of his neck, redness disappearing under his shirt. 

“I can clean it,” Steve sputters, looking mortified. 

He reaches out to grab the blanket, and Clint tenses up, gripping onto it tightly. 

Steve puts his hands up instantly, “I won’t take it from you. Sorry.”

Clint loosens his grip, and stares up at him. 

Steve says, awkwardly, “I’ll let you get some rest.”

He closes the door softly.

Clint showers, but he doesn’t sleep. 

Not yet. 

When he knows Steve’s left, and Bucky’s asleep, he takes his chance. 

Hand on stomach, he walks into the study, overly casual. 

Clint sits down heavily, the brief trip tiring him more. 

He types faster than he ever has before and scrolls until he finds what he’s looking for. He’s stupid, _so stupid,_ and he wants to fix that.

Clint jaw tightens more and more with each “ _Did you mean?”_ message that corrects his abysmal spelling. 

Once he finds what he’s looking for, he clicks around. It’s much easier this way, similar to finding the music he likes, and that makes him feel better. 

He looks behind himself, but neither Bucky nor Steve are there and the coast is clear. 

Ashamed, he adds;

_Basic Math Success Workbook: Grade 2_

_Math: Learn and Explore_ , and

 _A Kid’s Activity Book on Math & Finance _ to the online shopping cart. 

Clint turns his head around again, just in case Bucky’s suddenly able to teleport, but no one’s behind him. 

After he checks out, Clint makes sure to delete his browser history. 

***

Clint sleeps hard enough that he’s not sure where he is when he wakes up. 

Steve’s scent on the blanket grounds him, and after laying under the covers for a few minutes, he rolls out of bed.

Clint grabs his phone, not wanting to part with the gift, and shoves it in his hoodie. 

With a yawn, and a trip to the bathroom, he shuffles into the kitchen. 

Bucky’s already there, long strands of hair somehow standing up around his head. 

He smiles when Clint comes in, “Tea?” 

Clint nods gladly. The green tea has worked wonders when he’s been nauseous. His stomach isn’t rolling like it typically does, but he'll still enjoy sipping on the tea.

The mug Bucky places in front of him is steaming, and smells heavenly. Clint breathes it in, a calm falling over him. 

Bucky’s getting some more afternoon coffee when his phone chimes. After he looks at it, he rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful. 

Clint, trying not to be nosy, busies himself with bobbing his tea bag in the steaming mug. 

“Check your phone,” Bucky says. 

Clint jumps, then feels around the front pouch of his sweatshirt. After fumbling with it a bit to figure out how to unlock it, he sees a message from Steve. 

**Steve:** _Household meeting - 1900_

“Um,” Clint says. Bucky shakes his head with a laugh. 

**Bucky:** _Will food be served at this meeting?_

Clint’s eyes widen when Steve sends back a little picture of a middle finger. Then;

 **Steve:** _Sorry Clint. That was for Bucky._

 **Bucky:** _What about my feelings :,(_

Concerned, Clint looks over at Bucky but he doesn’t look upset at all. Instead, he’s smiling broadly and smells amused. 

**Steve:** _They don’t matter._

Clint inhales sharply, and scrambles to think of a response. Bucky just laughs and assures him, “He’s joking.” 

**Bucky:** _Love you too…._

 **Bucky:** _Punk._

 **Steve:** _Jerk_

Clint’s face flames at the affection, taking a sip of his tea to avoid eye contact. 

Bucky snickers, pocketing the phone, “Guess we’re not done facing the music.” 

When silence ensues he looks over at Clint. 

Clint’s doing his very best not to show how much he’s panicking, but Bucky can obviously tell. 

He frowns over his coffee, “Clint, I’m joking. It’s fine. He’s just gonna Steve something, you know how he is.” 

Clint has nothing to say, and takes another sip of his tea. He grimaces; it’s cold. 

“It’ll be ok, I promise,” Bucky says. 

Clint nods, still a bit wary. 

In the living room, Bucky starts up a video game, waving the controller invitingly. Clint knows he’s doing it to distract him, but it works. 

When Steve unlocks the door, Clint’s mouth instantly waters. Something smells amazing. Something smells like one of the best things he’s smelled in his entire life. 

He sniffles, locking onto two cardboard boxes that seem to hold the treasure. There’s a gigantic, almost two feet, pad of paper in Steve’s other hand. 

Clint stands up laboriously, eyeballing the treat Steve’s brought them. Bucky stands up too, grabbing the boxes from Steve’s hand, and kisses him. 

Clint barely notices, stomach grumbling. 

Steve looks at his watch, “Time for the meeting.” 

He places the pad of paper on the couch, then walks down the hall. 

Bucky shakes his head with an amused huff, bringing the boxes into the kitchen. 

Clint’s right on his heels, following the smell wafting from the box with single minded focus. 

While Bucky turns to grab plates and cups, Clint inspects the boxes. He places a hand on the top carefully, and it’s warm under his touch. 

He jumps when Bucky reappears next to him, opening the box. 

A pizza stares back at him. 

Clint looks down in awe. He’s eaten pizza before, normally leftovers outside a restaurant, thrown into a dumpster. 

But this is hot, hot enough that the cheese hasn’t congealed. He licks his lips, panting slightly, and swallows once, as if he can taste the cheese from the smell alone.

Bucky gives him a weird look, “Well.. help yourself.”

Gladly. 

Clint piles a couple pieces on his plate, then snatches up one of the jalapenos sitting against the corner of the box. 

Steve has them sit on the couch, the pad of paper resting on his easel in front of them. He stands, gripping the edge of the paper. 

Once situated, Clint demolishes the first slice of pizza. It tastes even _better_ than how it smells. 

“Alright, we’ll go ahead and get started,” Steve says, but Clint’s not really listening. Until Bucky barks out a laugh. 

Clint looks up startled, thinking Bucky’s laughing at him.

But Bucky's not looking at him, instead shooting an amused look in the direction of the easel. 

In Steve’s best calligraphy, the pad of paper reads:

_Household Meeting_

_Facilitator: Steve_

_Participants: Bucky & Clint _

Steve loudly clears his throat, glaring at Bucky, and begins. Guiltily, Clint slows his eating, silently promising he’ll listen. 

Steve flips the pad of paper;

_Things We Will Commit To_

“Any suggestions?” Steve says, crossing his arms. 

Bucky tosses him a wink, wagging his eyebrows. Clint blushes, almost choking on his food. 

Steve kicks him lightly, “Take this seriously.”

“Yea, sorry,” Bucky sobers.

Steve looks at him expectantly in response. 

Bucky sighs, shifting on the couch, “Yes, Steve. I promise I will communicate better.”

“Good suggestion, Buck. You read my mind,” Steve smirks at him and writes COMMUNICATION on the pad of paper. 

He looks at Clint, mouth softening, “Is this something you can commit to?”

Clint takes the crust out of his mouth, and nods, though he’s not really sure what that means. 

Steve looks at him. Clint stares back. 

He flinches once he realizes Steve’s waiting for him to offer something. 

Well, he figures this is his chance. 

“Apologize,” Clint says, feeling small. He starts to form the words, but Steve steamrolls over him.

“Good idea, Clint,” looking pointedly at Bucky. He writes APOLOGIZE then raises an eyebrow at the other alpha, waiting for the next suggestion. 

“I commit to chewing with my mouth closed,” Bucky offers, grinning at him. 

“I commit to cleaning my _long, brown,_ hair from the drain,” Steve returns, eyes narrowing. And then it’s on:

“Putting the pots back where I found them.” 

“Sharing the pillows.”

“Putting my clothes in the laundry basket.”

“Throwing food away when it’s stale.”

“Closing food _properly_ so it doesn’t go stale.” 

Clint’s eyes bounce between them, confused.

“Chopping strawberries,“ he offers quietly. 

Steve turns red, and shakes his head, “I think we can move on from this page.”

Bucky smirks. 

Clint’s been saving the last bit of his pizza, but he can no longer wait. He picks it up, sniffling at it happily. 

“Ok, so what do you think?” Steve says, voice trembling. 

Clint jolts, having not noticed the dense silence in the room. 

He swallows down the bit he’s chewed off, cradling the rest of the slice gently, and turns his attention back to the pad of paper. 

Clint drops his pizza in shock, eyes wide as saucers. 

There’s three individual pictures, obviously drawn by Steve. Clint’s seen his art before, and it always looks good. 

But. 

Each illustration depicts a slightly different room. There’s a crib in all of them. 

Clint’s mouth is suddenly, very, very dry. 

“Uh, I mean, you don’t have to stay but I was thinking- I mean I’m not sure- you don’t have to, we have the room, the study, I mean-,” Steve stammers out, looking terrified.

“Stevie. Take a breath,” Bucky says softly, but he looks a bit nervous too. Steve shuts his mouth.

It’s suddenly hard to breathe, and Clint swallows around the lump in his throat. 

Steve smiles at him anxiously. Bucky stares at him too, shifting on the couch uncomfortably. 

Thoughts race through his head, too quick for him to catch them. He can’t pinpoint all of the emotions filling his body, can’t make sense of the lightness in his heart. 

Clint can’t find the words, doesn’t know how to explain. 

Instead, he points at one of the illustrations, the one with the pastel purple crib, and whispers shakily, “I like that one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m excited to write some fluff soon!! All of them deserve it imo
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Inspiration: "You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." — Christopher Robin


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for clicking!!
> 
> t/w: past non-con

Unknown to Clint at the time, Steve had booked an emergency doctor’s appointment for the day following their household meeting. 

It’s at the top of the morning, and Bucky has not only woken up, but left the house, much to Clint’s surprise.

When they’re about to leave, he cringes at himself. His winter coat is ruined, and he’s not sure where Steve’s put it. 

Clint shudders, imagining the icy chill on his under dressed arms. 

“I guess you can use this for now,” Steve says, digging in the front closet. He unhooks one of the coats he doesn’t use often and hands it to Clint. 

Grateful, Clint puts it on. He practically drowns in the coat; the bottom brushes against his thighs, and the sleeves almost go past the tips of his fingers. 

Steve gulps. 

Clint looks up at him in question. 

The tips of Steve’s ears are red. He reaches for the hood, and gently pulls it over Clint’s head. 

“Gotta stay warm,” he says, though his voice sounds weird. Clint nods. 

In the car, Steve doesn’t have much to say, but Clint doesn’t mind. He fiddles with the stations until he lands on a song that sounds good, bobbing his head along. 

When Steve pulls in, a sense of dread grows. Clint had _completely_ forgotten to take the medicine Dr. Wiffle had provided him. He’s not even sure where he put it and he hopes he gets away with his mistake.

Clint goes with the nurse alone, Steve opting to stay in the waiting room. Clint swallows, wondering if he's done something wrong, something that would make Steve keep his distance. 

After a couple minutes of general questions, and a quick check up, Dr. Wiffle pushes up their glasses, “I have the results of your blood test.”

Clint nods. 

“Overall your blood panel looked good. However, there are two things I would like to talk about,” Dr. Wiffle says. 

Clint shifts. That doesn’t sound good. 

“You tested positive for chlamydia,” Dr. Wiffle says, then pauses as if waiting for a response. Clint has none to give, he’s unsure what that means. 

His confusion must show on his face, because Dr. Wiffle goes on to explain, “It’s a disease transmitted through sexual contact, but it’s highly treatable. I will prescribe you some antibiotics that should clear it up nicely, but given you are pregnant we’ll need to keep an eye on it.”

Clint swallows. He knew he was unclean. 

“There were also traces of Noduline in your system,” Dr. Wiffle doesn’t pause, sensing that Clint won’t know what that was either, “Noduline is a very dangerous, _very illegal_ , drug that prevents knotting. Have you ever ingested any substances foreign to you?”

More times that he can count. 

“Because you are pregnant, it must have failed. Do you remember the last time you were knotted?” 

“Knotted?” he asks. Do they mean the last time he’d been hit? The last time his skin had raised into tight inflamed skin? 

Dr. Wiffle gives him a serious look but their voice is kind when they say, “In the past year, has an alpha partner’s penis ever gotten stuck inside you?” 

Clint’s mouth goes dry. 

Yea. He’s been stuck. 

His Claimer had just finished, but instead of pulling out Clint had felt an intense pressure. His insides stretched painfully, something like a ball filling him. 

“God damnit!” His Claimer had shouted roughly. 

Clint had tried to move his ass away. He knew he’d get in trouble, but it hurt so bad. He’d take the punishment, if he could escape from the pain inside him.

Before he could move more, his Claimer had grabbed his hips hard enough to bruise. 

“Don’t move,” he hissed. Clint froze, baring his neck in apology. 

He wanted to beg his Claimer to remove it. He was sorry, _so sorry,_ and he had no clue what he’d done wrong to get this type of punishment. 

His Claimer breathed harshly above him, and all Clint could do was brace on all fours. 

Clint didn’t dare move away again, even though he wanted to. Instead, he had arched his back more, hoping the obedience, his performance, would stave off the worst of his punishment. 

His Claimer inhaled sharply, and forcibly pulled Clint’s hips back.

“If I have to tell your dumb ass not to move one more time, I’ll bash your ugly face in. I swear I will.” 

Clint bared his throat again, and stayed put. Despite the order, his body had begun to tremble with fear. He didn’t say anything, knew better than to beg. 

After eons, the pressure became easier to bear and his Claimer had slipped out. 

Silence. 

Clint stayed where he was, hips thrust in the air. He could feel blood and cum trickle from his hole. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he could see his Claimer zip up his pants, face twisted in fury. 

Clint had hurriedly shut his eyes. He heard the familiar sound of his Claimer ripping his belt from the loops.

He expected it, but the first lash from the belt still hurt. He knew better than to make a sound, but he’d still cried out after the 5th strike fell. 

“Shut up,” his Claimer had grunted. Clint pushed his face into the bed to muffle his whimpering. 

“Clint? Clint?” He jumps at the hand on his thigh. Dr. Wiffle looks up at him in concern, tissues pinched in their outstretched fingers. 

Clint hurriedly wipes the wetness away from his eyes, and swallows with a nod, “I’ve been stuck before.” 

Dr. Wiffle says gently, “Did Steve knot you?”

Clint shakes his head, breathing against the sharpness in his chest, “Someone else. Steve’s never...”

He trails off, not wanting to think about mating anymore. 

“I asked to speak with you privately for this appointment,” Dr Wiffle says, completely out of the blue. 

Clint looks at them. 

Dr. Wiffle goes on to explain, “Had Steve been dangerous, it’s likely he would have insisted he’d be in here, even at the cost of your health. But he didn’t force the issue.” 

Clint nods. 

“This other alpha. Did you want to file a report?”

Clint shakes his head, eyes widening. 

Dr. Wiffle nods, a soft look on their face. They tell him the next appointment will include a sonogram. Clint's not sure what that means, and he’s too ashamed to ask. 

His ignorance must be apparent though, because he receives quite a few booklets about alpha and omega puberty and reproduction. Each booklet has smiling people on them, and they all look younger than him. 

Clint swallows, but Dr. Wiffle doesn’t look judgmental. They simply give him the OK to leave the examination room. 

He puts the booklets in his pockets, promising himself he’ll read them. Promising himself that he won’t be stupid anymore.

***

Steve looks over at Clint worriedly as he drives home. The omega is sullen, a hint of distress in his scent. 

“Are you ok?” he asks, for the fifth time. Just like the last four times, Clint nods his head, looking out the window. 

Feeling helpless, Steve turns on a family friendly movie when they get back. He keeps his body language open, silently encouraging Clint to sit beside him on the couch. 

Clint does, eyes locked on the screen. He doesn’t look like he’s watching it at all. Steve really isn’t either, too busy shooting concerned looks at the omega. 

Clint’s chewing on his lip, in a way that people typically do when they’re trying not to cry. 

“Clint,” he says, when the omega starts sniffling. Clint looks at him with red eyes.

Steve opens his arms, “Hug?” 

He expects Clint to lean in slightly, and he shifts forward to keep a semblance of distance between them. 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up in shock when Clint _climbs into his lap,_ trembling arms clinging to his torso. 

Really concerned now, Steve wraps his arms around him tightly. Clint shakes against him, and Steve can tell he’s started crying.

“What happened?” Steve says quietly. Clint doesn’t respond, at least not at first. Steve doesn’t push, but gets a response anyway, after Clint takes a heavy breath. 

“I got knotted,” he sobs into Steve’s wet shirt, voice muffled.

Oh. 

Steve holds onto Clint tighter, trying to keep his rage down so he doesn’t scare him. If he’d been through what Clint had, he'd be crying too. 

He’s actually surprised this is the first time Clint’s reacted like this, at least as far as he knows. 

After a couple of minutes, Clint seems to exhaust himself, shuddering breaths evening out with sleep. 

Steve clenches his jaw; Bucky conveniently needed to go to the store just when the time of Clint’s appointment rolled around. 

Clumsily, he works his phone out his pocket.

 **Steve:** Come in quietly.

 **Bucky:**?

Steve doesn’t respond, waiting for Bucky to cut his trip short and get home. 

After about 10 minutes, Bucky enters quietly, just as instructed, face already pinched in concern. 

Bucky frowns in worry as he takes in the scene they make on the couch. He mouths, _What happened?_

Steve shakes his head. 

Instead, he gets a hand on his phone and types out;

 **Steve:** If he tells you, you better keep your temper in check. 

Bucky works his jaw, and it’s clear he’s already imagining what he needs to get mad about on Clint’s behalf. 

Steve glares at him in warning, and the dark look on Bucky’s face softens. 

He sits beside the duo carefully, and after a bit of hesitation, places his flesh hand on the top of Clint’s head. 

Bucky strokes at the strands gently, offering what comfort he can without knowing what’s wrong. 

A small sound comes from between Steve’s arms, and at first they think Clint’s snoring. But it sounds different, softer. 

Bucky tilts his head, trying to hear better. When he does, his jaw drops.

Clint’s _purring._

The alphas look at each other in shock, for a long moment, before Bucky mutes the T.V. with his metal hand. He doesn’t remove his other palm from the back of Clint’s head. 

They sit in silence, the sound of purring filling the room. 

***

Clint wakes up in his bed, over the covers, but with his blanket thrown on top of him. Though he’s slept, he still feels exhausted, wrung out. 

He yawns, throwing himself out of bed to do his business. When he’s washing his hands, the morning comes flooding back. 

Embarrassment tightens his chest; Steve must be so upset with him for the way he acted.

Nervously, he changes into house clothes, knowing he needs to own up to what he’s done.

He’s picking through his shirts when it hits him. 

He doesn’t need to find the largest shirt anymore, the one that’ll conceal his belly the most.

He could wear a shirt, tight as Steve’s tend to be, and won’t get in trouble. Or get his pup taken away.

Clint feels the corner of his eyes prickle, but stamps the tearfulness down in frustration. 

He takes a moment to slide on the shirt, which does little to hide his growing belly.

Clint looks for a few moments, taking in the roundness of it, before taking a deep breath.

Apprehensive, he shuffles into the kitchen, hoping Steve and Bucky are out of the house. He knows it’s a fool’s dream. He can clearly smell them. 

They look up when he comes in, but neither look mad or uncomfortable. Steve smiles at him gently, putting chocolate bars and chocolate donuts in a cabinet. 

Clint looks at it hungrily, hoping Steve finishes soon so he can grab some. 

Bucky’s face is in his coffee, but he has a relieved smile on his face for some reason. 

Once Steve steps away from the cabinet, Clint makes his way over. There’s a lot of chocolate in it, more than he’s used to, and for a moment he’s overwhelmed. 

Salivating, he drags his fingers along the bright packaging, before he picks out a candy bar. He noticed it first, so he figures he might as well indulge.

He sits at the table and munches on it happily.

Steve beams at him, though he places a bowl of buttered rice and broccoli in front of him pointedly. 

Clint flushes, finishing off the chocolate before he pulls the bowl closer.

After he makes quick work of his food, they start up a movie in the living room. Clint'd settled on the end of the couch, as he normally does, when Bucky grumbles at him. 

“Can you scootch over? I wanna lean against the arm,” he says.

At first Clint thinks Bucky means he should go back to the chair, until Steve moves over a bit too, making room for him to sit in between them. Clint flushes, scooting over to make room for Bucky. 

Their combined scents are a lot, almost overwhelming, but Clint finds it pleasant all the same. He settles into his seat, directing his attention to the film. 

At the end of the movie, Clint’s forgotten all about being embarrassed. 

For a couple hours at least. 

After he takes his pain medication, which offers almost instant relief, he sits in front of the computer to listen to some songs. 

He startles when there’s a knock on the door. He whirls around, and Bucky’s smiling at him in the doorway.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says sheepishly. He’s holding a cardboard box. 

Clint shakes his head and pauses his music.

“Your books came,” Bucky says casually. Clint pales, looking at the box in terror.

“Sorry I opened it,” Bucky’s saying but Clint’s attention is long gone to give way to mortification, “It had my name on it so I thought it was my tea towels.”

Bucky shrugs and hands the box to Clint, “Let me know if you want me to look over your answers. One of my minors was in Mathematics.” 

Clint holds the box weakly, he wants to apologize but he’s not sure why. He places the box on the keyboard, avoiding eye contact with Bucky.

“Thanks,” he mutters, willing the alpha to leave him to his misery. 

“Oh nice, were you listening to Josh Groban?” 

Instead of leaving, Bucky settles on the free chair and says conspiringly, “He’s my guilty pleasure. But don’t tell Steve, or I can’t rib him for liking Vengaboys anymore.” 

Bucky snickers lightly, then looks at the computer screen. Clint unpauses the song and avoids looking at the box. 

Steve catches them listening anyway, bringing the pad of paper into the study to talk about the nursery. Clint discreetly shoves the math books under the desk.

Steve shows them how he’d planned to set up the study, and bounces around ideas. Clint can barely keep up, Steve’s talking fast and Clint barely recognizes any of the words he’s saying.

Bucky cuts in every now and then, but he isn’t explaining anything, he disagrees with Steve on some things and agrees wholeheartedly on others.

Bucky huffs out a laugh eventually, “Sounds like we need to go to the store.”

***

The next day, Steve scowls into the rear view mirror. Bucky’s always been a backseat driver, and today is no different. 

Bucky’s in the seat behind Clint, neither alpha willing to leave him in the back by himself. 

“Just admit you should have listened to me. You didn’t, and now you’re lost,” Bucky grins. 

“We don’t need to pull out a navigator. I know where I’m going,” Steve grits out, turning his eyes on the road once again. 

“Really? Because the parental store we passed a mile ago says differently,” Bucky heckles. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve screeches. 

Bucky smirks at him, giving a shrug, “I wanted to listen to the rest of this song.” 

Steve growls at him, then makes a U-turn that may or may not have been legal. Now that he knows he’s in the vicinity, Steve locates the store quickly. He ignores Bucky’s snickering as they pull in. 

Clint’s silent, looking confused. 

Bucky’s humor dwindles when they enter the store. All three of them pause, near the entrance, taking in the vast selection. Clint’s eyes are blown wide. 

Steve clears his throat, and looks at them both. 

“We need to divide and conquer,” he says, “Bucky, I’m putting you in charge of supplies that we can stow away in the study for now. Items we have room for, the essentials. Clint, we’ll be looking at clothing and anything else you’ll need throughout the pregnancy.”

“Mission accepted,” Bucky says in mock seriousness, giving him a jaunty salute. 

Steve scowls at him, “Just go get some pacifiers or something Barnes.” 

Bucky grins, before he disappears into the crowd to follow his orders. 

Steve sighs, looking at Clint, who definitely seems overwhelmed.

“Did you want to sit in the car for a bit?” Steve offers. 

Clint looks up at him, then shakes his head. 

Steve grabs a cart, and guides them to the clothing section. Clint eyeballs the racks as if they’re gonna bite him.

“Oh this is soft,” Steve says, rubbing some sweatpants between his fingers. Clint looks at where the pants sit on the display, reaching a hand out and feels it too.

“It is soft,” Clint says. 

Steve nods encouragingly, “Did you want these? We can get a few, in different sizes.” 

He thinks that makes sense, he hopes it does. Steve has no idea what he’s doing. 

He picks up the one on top, and unfolds it. He holds it up to Clint’s waist. There’s a good 4 extra inches on both sides.

Probably enough for the next few weeks but not much more, because his belly will continue to grow, the baby will continue to grow. 

Steve flushes red, the imagery suddenly very, very clear. 

“This size looks good,” he says, voice slightly strangled. After Clint nods, he tosses it in the cart. Steve grabs up a few more, all in bigger sizes. 

After that, Clint opens up a bit more, expressing his thoughts every now and again. He even laughs at a shirt with a dancing slice of pizza on it. 

Steve laughs too, holding the shirt up against Clint so he can see what it’d look like on him. 

Clint looks down at himself, and softly laughs again. Steve grins at him, pulling the shirt away to put it in the cart. 

In the process, he accidentally brushes his hand against Clint’s stomach. Steve snatches his hand away.

“Sorry,” he yelps, mortified. Clint looks at him in confusion, then his face opens in realization. 

“Oh, you can feel,” he says quietly, unzipping his oversized jacket. Even though Clint gave him permission, Steve still hesitates. 

He looks down at Clint’s anticipatory face, and swallows. 

Steve places his palm against the roundness. 

“Oh wow,” he whispers. 

Clint gives him a shy smile.

After a few moments, Steve pulls away and clears his throat, “We should probably get some lighter outfits, for when the weather turns.” 

Clint nods, zipping his coat back up. 

The entire trip lasts about an hour, and when Steve’s sure Clint’s gotten all he wants, he makes his way to the cashier. Bucky’s probably already checked out, seeing as he didn’t need to get that many things. 

They find him loitering near the entrance of the store, casually browsing the toy section. He isn’t holding anything. 

Steve sighs, his partner had an _hour_ to find things and he’s still only looking. 

He keeps the annoyance out of his voice when they approach him, “Didn’t find anything yet?” 

Bucky straightens up and looks at him in confusion.

Steve makes a vague motion at the nothing Bucky’s carrying. 

“Oh, my stuff is right there.” He points at the cart a few feet from him, one that Steve mistook for a cart being used to restock the shelves. 

It’s filled to the _brim_ with items, some of the choices threatening to spill over. 

“Bucky,” Steve hisses, “What happened to only grabbing the essentials?”

“These are essential,” Bucky says defensively. 

“Buck, I see bath toys in there.”

“What about you? Your cart is full too.” 

“Of _clothes_ , that Clint _needs_.”

“Excuse me sirs. I’m going to have to ask you to quiet it down,” a shopping assistant says sternly. 

They both flush in embarrassment, looking over to the silent omega with them. Clint’s got his hands in Bucky’s mountain of items.

“Is that a pillow?” He asks softly. 

“A pregnancy pillow yea,” Bucky says smugly, looking at Steve, though the red dusting across his nose betrays him. 

“Guess we should check out,” Steve says.

On their way back home, Bucky says, “Hey Clint, you wanna learn how to drive?” 

Steve immediately protests.

“Absolutely not, Buck. That is way too dangerous. I can’t even-”

“Now, now Stevie. I think Clint can make decisions for himself,” he says with a smile, though his tone is a bit too sharp to be completely mirthful. 

“I’d like to,” Clint says quietly.

“Add it to your list,” Bucky says, “and buckle up, looks like Steve may reach 10 mph this time.”

Steve sighs.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally know the sperm donor! Oof. I made up Noduline; the drug is fictional. 
> 
> Also I wanna make it VERY clear since Clint's thought this twice. I COMPLETELY disagree that an STD makes someone 'unclean'. He is an unreliable narrator and I just wanted to remind people lol
> 
> Thank you for reading!!
> 
> Inspiration: “We all walk around sometimes feeling like we have an elephant on our chest, but we’re not alone. And we’re not less than because of that. We’re not unlovable because of that.” - Anne Hathaway


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow!!! I am just continuing blown away by the response to this fic! 
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading!!!!

Bucky’s hair is tied in a bun at the back of his head. He’s dressed in worn out jeans, and an old t-shirt. 

He’s also laughing hysterically as Clint walks in. 

The omega is in one of his full body pregnancy jumpers, an apron tied around his torso, a painter’s mask stuck on his face, eyes blinking at Bucky through industrial goggles. 

It’s so Steve, it _hurts_.

Bucky can’t really see his face, but he can tell Clint’s frowning at him. Bucky straightens up, swallowing down his amusement. 

“Best to be safe,” Bucky chokes out, laughter bubbling up again. 

Steve comes into the nursery-in-progress, dressed similarly to Bucky, besides the bright blue fabric tied around his blond hair. 

He’s clutching another bandana in his hand, this one in black, eyes pinched in worry, “You forgot your bandana.”

Bucky loses it again. 

Steve glares at him, “Something funny?” 

Bucky shakes his head, biting his lip to keep the giggles at bay.

Steve doubles down on his glare, then bends to pop the first paint can open, “Now that the primer’s dried, we’ll need to add the first coat of paint.” 

They’ve opted for a soft eggshell color, with plans to add colorful detailing once the paint has dried. 

As Steve mixes the paint, Bucky crouches to pull the rollers out of the plastic. He hands one to Clint, who’s already pushed the goggles to the top of his head. 

Satisfied with how the color comes out, Steve pours the paint into three different trays. He places one on a tall step ladder, so Clint doesn’t have to bend over, and grabs a roller from Bucky. 

Steve provides instructions on how to roll an even coat, miming the action. Clint watches intently, nodding along.

Bucky pushes his roller in the paint tray, not bothering to listen to the tutorial. 

He starts on the wall that gives him the best vantage point to subtly observe Clint while he works. The omega rolls the paint on carefully, not really applying too much pressure. 

Steve pauses occasionally, gently providing guidance when needed. 

Clint nods, trying again. Steve cuts on a speaker, playing his boring instrumental music softly. 

Bucky redirects his attention to the wall in front of him, confident Clint has a handle on it. 

Steve thankfully put his playlist on shuffle and the instrumental music changes to a more upbeat song after a few minutes. 

Bucky relaxes into the monotonous task, adding paint to his roller when he needs to. 

He snaps out of his single minded focus when he hears Clint sharply inhale.

Bucky glances behind him, the omega’s using both hands to rub furiously at the wall. 

Steve pauses his painting in mid air, staring at Clint too. 

“Sorry,” Clint says, voice panicked. 

Bucky squints and sees the problem. 

There’s a streak of paint across the molding, Clint having gone past the painter’s tape. 

Clint yanks his mask off, and attempts to blow the paint toward the wall, not letting up on his rubbing. 

He’s making it worse. 

Steve sidles up next to him, and tilts his head, “You’ve got the right idea, we probably _should_ repaint the molding. A warm pastel would probably look good. What do you think Buck?”

Clint pauses his frantic rubbing, looking up at Steve in confusion. 

Bucky nods his head, a smirk stretching his face, “You know what else would look good?”

“What?” Steve smiles at him, almost making Bucky feel bad about what he’s about to do. 

Almost. 

Before Steve can react, he rushes him with paint in his palm. 

“Bucky!” Steve attempts to jump away, but the paint covered hand swipes his chest anyway. 

Steve shoves his hands in his own paint tray, “You know what else looks good?” 

“Nope. I surrender,” Bucky says playfully, shooting his hands up. 

“It’s too late for that Barnes,” Steve says solemnly, before he attacks Bucky with the paint. 

He tries to jump away after his assault, but Bucky acts too quickly for him to get away. He uses an open hand to rub his paint into Steve’s stomach. 

Their game escalates quickly and childish grappling sends them to the ground. 

“You know what else looks good?” Steve smirks, sitting on Bucky’s legs to hold him down.

Bucky tightens his thighs, then uses the leverage to roll them over. He pins Steve, lifting one hand to mash it into his hair, the blue bandana long gone, “You know what else looks good?” 

Before his hand connects with Steve’s hair, paint droplets hit the side of his face and Steve’s arm. The paint didn’t come from either of them. 

They both crane their necks upward. Clint’s hand is outstretched in a flicking position. 

“That looks good,” Clint says softly, faintly smiling.

Bucky laughs, easing off Steve to stand up. 

“I agree,” Bucky says, lightly flicking some onto Clint’s chest. The omega huffs out a quiet laugh. 

They take a couple minutes breather to wash the worst of the paint off, and spend time away from the fumes. 

They’ve made good progress, and could probably finish in one more day. 

Clint’s the first to walk back into the study. He put his mask back on, but Steve still looks worried. 

He attempts to end the day when Bucky’s back in the room too, but it’s obvious that he’s mostly concerned about Clint. He tries to play it off.

“Maybe we should pick this back up tomorrow,” he says to the room at large, not as casual as he probably thinks he’s being. 

Clint pushes his roller through the paint tray and says quietly, “I’m ok.” 

Steve lets the issue lie, but Bucky can tell he’s still fretting. 

Hands trembling slightly, Clint begins repainting. His strokes are careful and slow as he grips onto the roller tightly. 

Steve says something into Clint’s ear, too soft for Bucky to pick up. 

Clint nods, and Steve smiles at him softly. He stands behind Clint, lightly gripping his wrist and pushing his arm up and down gently to show him how to do it. 

The omega unconsciously leans into the accidental embrace, nodding his head as Steve continues to whisper something to him. 

Bucky turns away with a fond smile. 

***

As time passes, Clint starts getting more exploratory of household tasks. One night, he asks them if he could make them breakfast the next day. He was tentative about it, as if he expected them to refuse. 

Both of them nodded eagerly. 

Steve set an alarm that night so they won’t miss breakfast. Bucky rolled his eyes; Steve hasn’t needed an alarm in years, and there’s no way he’ll need one tomorrow. 

When the alarm beeps in the morning, Bucky regrets everything in life and places his head under the pillow. He can hear Steve moving around in the bathroom. 

Steve re-enters the bedroom, bringing steam and blinding brightness with him. 

Bucky groans at the light that’s somehow permeated the pillow. 

“Time for breakfast,” Steve says sternly and Bucky can feel that he’s started to pull at the comforter. 

“5 minutes,” he rasps, barely coherent. 

Steve abruptly yanks the covers from the bed. Bucky shivers, the heated air feeling ice cold to his skin. 

“Why do you hate me,” Bucky rasps, forcing himself to get up. 

By the time he drags himself into the kitchen, Steve’s already at the table, sipping at water. 

Clint has his back to them, busy pulling out ingredients. He mutters to himself, pausing every so often, face pinched in thought. 

He glances at the table occasionally, as if expecting them to have left. 

Bucky puts on his best encouraging smile, though he knows it probably comes out as more of a grimace. 

Clint comes to his rescue by putting a black, very black, mug of coffee in front of him. 

“Thanks,” Bucky grunts, taking a sip. A moment later, his half lidded eyes snap wide open. 

The coffee is black enough to peel paint, and he doesn’t know whether to be thankful, or offended that Clint thinks he drinks it that strongly. 

Thankfulness wins out, and the coffee gradually pulls him from his half asleep fogginess. 

Clint puts them to work, handing Steve a bowl of cracked eggs to stir, and Bucky a few apples to chop. 

The alphas work on their assigned tasks quietly as Clint cuts the burners on. 

He fries the apples, which take a bit longer than normal because he’s got the burner turned too low, and makes blueberry pancakes. 

It takes Clint about three test pancakes before he’s satisfied with the result, but he doesn’t smell frustrated. He lifts them out of the pan carefully, as if afraid they may rip. 

The eggs come last before Clint plates everything. He joins them at the table, visibly nervous, but with a slight proud smile on his face. 

As Steve digs in, he has nothing but praise for Clint. 

The eggs are a bit runny, and the apples are a little hard, but overall the food _is_ good. 

It’s flavorful, and Clint’s tossed the perfect amount of blueberries into the pancake batter. 

Steve moans as if wounded when he bites into the pancakes, “This is real good.” 

“Delicious,” Bucky adds on, genuinely.

Clint’s face is red as he drinks in the praise, smelling very pleased. 

Chocolate dishes soon follow Clint’s efforts in the kitchen. Though Bucky gets frustrated with the lack of autonomy in baking recipes, he can pull off a few desserts.

When he offers to help make brownies, the reaction he gets is worth it. Clint’s face is subdued, but the cheerful scent that floats from him tells Bucky enough. 

He rolls his eyes when Steve insists on helping. As Clint pulls out the ingredients, Bucky very pointedly gives Steve a separate mixing bowl and pan. 

They work in silence, Clint every so often glancing at the recipe on his phone. 

After popping them in the oven, Clint settles at the table, hand on his stomach, and watches the brownies bake. 

He has a soft smile, completely content to watch the mix firm. His stare gets more intense as the clock ticks by, licking his lips occasionally. 

When the brownies are ready, because it annoys Steve, Bucky uses his metal hand to pull the pans out without an oven mitt. 

As expected, he gets a mildly disappointed look when he places the finished brownies on the countertop. 

Steve’s pan looks fine, much to his surprise. Clint waits eagerly, if not with subtle impatience, for the brownies to be plated. 

Clint nibbles happily on the brownies he made. Bucky helps himself too, pleased with how they turned out. 

Steve puts his plate down in front of Clint, an expectant grin on his face. 

The omega has quite the appetite nowadays, and he’ll easily be able to eat the extra brownies from Steve. 

Clint grabs one, biting off the corner with a smile. He tenses up instantly, his smile turning into more of a grimace. He tries to put the brownie back on his plate discreetly. 

Steve catches him though, because he’s been beaming at the omega since he offered his brownies. He looks at Clint in confusion. 

“I think something may have gone wrong,” Clint says quietly. 

Bucky immediately snatches one up, and once he bites into it, he’s not nearly as subtle about it. 

Eye’s watering, he chokes slightly on the piece he accidentally swallowed.

“Steve, what the hell?” He says, voice strangled. 

“What?” Steve grabs one, popping a big piece in his mouth. He does a full body shudder, dropping the rest back on the plate. 

“Oh, I think I may have used salt,” he says.

Bucky scowls at him, “The salt was in the cupboard.” 

“You were using the sugar,” Steve says. 

Bucky sighs, reaching to throw Steve’s brownies in the trash. 

***

Clint casually runs a rag over an already clean spot on the counter, waiting for Bucky and Steve to go to sleep. 

Once the alphas are out the room, Clint makes his move. He grabs up a few of the brownies and rolls them in foil. 

He walks to his room, casual as anything, until he shuts the door. 

Clint hurries over to his dresser, placing his treats on the top of it. He groans as he struggles to get into a sitting position on the floor. 

This had been much easier weeks ago, belly not as obstructive. He settles with a wince, sliding open the drawer quietly. 

Clint gently lifts the towel he’s thrown over his stash. Food of all kinds stare back at him. 

He runs his hand over his baggie full of cereal, bread rolls tightly wrapped in plastic, leftover trail mix shoved into an empty egg carton, and beans carefully poured into a jar. 

He normally doesn’t bring chocolate to his stash because that’s always plentiful. 

Most food is plentiful, but it still feels good to hold onto the extras he snatches from the kitchen. 

Some of the bread is moldy, much to Clint’s chagrin. It felt so comforting to have it that he never got around to actually eating it. 

He learned his lesson long ago that scraping off the visible mold is not enough to make it edible.

Clint scowls at the food, wishing it would last longer, then grabs up the spoiled dinner rolls. 

With a sigh, Clint uses the dresser as leverage to heave himself back onto his feet. 

He walks into his bathroom and stands above the toilet. Clint makes quick work of ripping up the bread. He drops the pieces into the bowl, and flushes. 

This way, he figures, the food that’s gone off won’t stink up the kitchen trash can. 

Though he’s a bit disappointed he can’t eat the bread, his mood increases when he holds the brownies and lets them fall from his grip. 

There’s many food items to cushion their fall and the brownies land in the drawer softly. 

His balance isn’t what it used to be, but he’s still able to push the drawer closed with his foot, avoiding having to sit on the floor again. 

Clint washes his hands, to get rid of any crumbs, and climbs into bed. He situates himself to let his body be cradled by the pregnancy pillow. 

Satisfied with his work, he closes his eyes and drifts to sleep.

*** 

“Let’s make love,” Steve says, coming out of the bathroom after his nightly ritual. Bucky’s facing away, head already cushioned in the pillow to fall asleep.

“Corny,” Bucky teases, but he’s already turning over with a soft look. Steve’s leaning against the bathroom door, face tender. He’s naked. 

“C’mere,” Bucky leers. 

Steve grins at him, walking toward the door to cut on their white noise machine and diffuser. After a moment, lavender floats around the room, dulling their scents. 

Bucky blinks against the sound of the white noise machine. He’s used it to sleep better in the past, and finds himself calming under it now. Steve notices, shooting him a questioning look.

“We don’t have to,” Steve says, smiling at him gently. 

“Don’t tease me like that,” Bucky says, climbing out from under the covers, and sitting up. 

After he shucks off his shirt, he makes grabby hands at his partner. Steve huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. 

Steve joins him on the bed, and Bucky can feel the mattress dip from the added weight. 

Bucky shoves some pillows behind himself so he can lean against the headboard comfortably. Steve straddles him, and pulls him into a tender kiss. 

Bucky smiles into it, metal hand coming up to cradle his partner’s strong jaw. Steve grinds against him languidly as they deepen the kiss. 

Bucky rolls his hips upward, rocking with him. Steve bears down harder, one hand stretched out to brace himself beside Bucky’s head. He’s got his other hand threaded in Bucky’s hair, grip firm. 

Bucky winces, “Too tight.” 

Steve eases off his hair, kissing him in apology. Though his affections are tender, he’s started to pick up pace, hips snapping clumsily. 

His breath is hot as he pants into Bucky’s ear, sweat gathered on his brow as the bed creaks underneath them. 

“Geez, Stevie. Lemme get undressed first,” Bucky laughs. After a few more pumps of his hips, Steve climbs off reluctantly. 

Bucky shucks off his boxers. It doesn’t take him long, but Steve’s looking at him impatiently, stroking himself. 

Once he’s naked, Steve straddles him again, nibbling at his earlobe. Realization pulls his lips into a smirk. 

“You’ve been breathin’ in his scent,” Bucky says, amused. 

“Who?” Steve whispers in his ear, low and sensual, clearly in his own head. 

Bucky shakes his head, leaning forward to capture Steve’s lips. Before he can, Steve pulls away as if Bucky’s been lit on fire.

“Of course not!” Steve yelps, eyebrows hitting his hairline, “Buck, you know I’d never cheat on you!”

“I never said anything about cheatin’,” Bucky says, and attempts to bring the alpha back over, lightly grabbing his wrist. 

Steve puts even more distance between them.

“I know you didn’t. But I only got eyes for you Buck, swear.” Steve says. Bucky can tell he actually believes that too. 

“Alright, whatever you say pal,” Bucky says, leaning over to run his hands down Steve’s chest enticingly. 

“No Buck, wait,” Steve fully extricates himself. “We need to talk about this.” 

“Can we talk about it after we have sex?” 

The look Steve gives him is answer enough. He sighs. 

“This is for you.” Steve points at his own hardness, in a very unsexy way. Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth. I didn’t say it wasn’t. Stevie Jr. just got a little help, that’s all,” he says with a smirk. 

Steve doesn’t laugh, a deep frown on his face. 

“You gotta know you’re the only one for me,” he insists, “Buck, seriously-”

“Steve,” Bucky cuts him off, eyes wide as saucers.

“What? What’s wrong?” He says, concern pushes away his indignation. 

Bucky stares at him, slack jawed for another moment. Steve pokes him in his side. 

“You’re going into rut,” Bucky says, shocked. 

“What?” Steve screeches, then takes a deep breath. He pales, eyes going wide with terror. 

“I thought we agreed to take suppressants?” Bucky says, careful to keep his voice light. 

Steve still gets defensive, “We did. I am. Never missed a dose.” 

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks. 

Steve clenches his jaw, “Yes.” 

Silence ensues until they both tense up and look at each other in horror. They stare at their bedroom door, where Clint sleeps beyond, blissfully unaware. 

“He can’t smell you like this,” Bucky hisses, already trying to think of a plan. 

Steve’s past the point of reason, launching out of bed in full panic mode. 

“What are we gonna do?” He says, frantically, “How the hell did this happen?” 

He’s pacing at the foot of their bed, overreacting in Bucky’s opinion. 

“Steve, calm down. I think I have a plan.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh lol 
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Inspiration: "There is no sense in punishing your future for the mistakes of your past. Forgive yourself, grow from it, and then let it go." - Melanie Koulouris


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just don't know what to say about you lovely readers <3 Thank you so much!!

Bucky loudly clears his throat when a cut scene pauses their gameplay. Clint looks over to him, not dropping his controller, eager to continue winning. The look on the alpha’s face makes him shiver. 

Bucky looks _terrified,_ and uncomfortable in a way Clint hasn’t seen before. Bucky clears his throat again, and Clint eyes him warily. 

“Remember when we decided to commit to communication?” Bucky says, shifting. Clint nods carefully. 

Did they find out about his stash? Was he supposed to communicate about that?

“Um, so,” Bucky stammers. Clint’s heart rate starts to increase, rising with the alpha’s panic. 

“So?” Clint encourages quietly, tensing. 

“Well, you know,” Bucky gulps, “Steve’sgoingintorut.” 

Clint scrunches his face in thought, trying to pick up the rushed words. When he does, his mouth goes dry.

“He’s not going to do anything… weird to you, that’s not why he isn’t out here,” Bucky says, “He’s just embarrassed.”

“Ok,” Clint says softly, confused. 

“Sorry if this is oversharing,” Bucky cringes, “We wanted to be honest.” 

Clint nods, wondering where this is going. 

“We had the thought, I mean _I_ had the thought, that you could stay over at Sam’s for a couple days? You don’t wanna breathe that in, trust me.”

“Sorry,” Clint says softly, because it feels like the right thing to say. 

“None of this is your fault,” Bucky says immediately, “and I can pick you up the moment it’s run its course. In the meantime, you can enjoy Sam’s food, it’s better than mine, don’t tell him I said that. His husband is an alpha, but he’s really nice and funny.”

Bucky’s selling it hard, continuing to prattle away, desperation growing by the moment. 

Clint nods, “Ok.” 

Bucky’s still talking, only registering Clint’s agreement moments later.

“Ok?” he confirms with a relieved grin. Clint nods. 

The cut scene is over, gameplay restarted, but neither of them notice. 

“I can help you pack.” 

***

Clint packs carefully, he doesn’t want to forget anything. Bucky gives him suggestions, since he's never had a sleepover before. 

“Um,” Bucky says as Clint zips up his luggage. 

Clint turns to look up at him questionably. The alpha is holding a shirt in his metal hand. 

“You don’t have to, but I read sometimes it helps, but it’s completely fine, nevermind,” Bucky stammers, already turning tail before Clint can get a word in. His face is flaming red. 

“What is it?” Clint says softly. Bucky shoves it at him, dancing away as if Clint is dangerous. Clint grabs it before it can float to the floor. 

“Oh,” he says, when he breathes in the strong scent of Bucky. 

The alpha looks panicked, “I read online that familiar scents can be helpful during pregnancy. But what the hell am I thinking?” 

Bucky attempts to snatch up the shirt and Clint clutches it closer. 

“I don’t mind,” Clint says softly, his own face getting a little red. 

Bucky clears his throat, “Ok great.” 

Bucky helps him load the luggage into the car, pushing it into the back seat. He starts up the car, and loud punk rock abruptly vibrates the seats below them. 

“Sorry!” Bucky yelps, scrambling to turn it down.

“It’s ok,” Clint says quietly, pulling the seat belt across himself. He has to shove the lap belt underneath his belly, or it wouldn’t lock. 

Clint smiles softly at the sight, rubbing at his stomach. 

As the pup grows, he’s gotten slight pain in his hip and he shifts slightly to alleviate the pressure on his pelvic bone.

Bucky keeps up nervous chatter as he drives them to Sam’s. Clint nods at random intervals, too busy looking outside. Staring out the car window never gets old. 

It’s started to get a bit rainy and he watches the droplets race down the glass. He focuses on one, willing it to go faster than the others. 

His droplet takes the lead, sliding down steadily. Another, bigger, droplet pulls forward, absorbing others as it goes. Clint frowns when his droplet gets absorbed too. 

Disappointed, he finds another droplet that looks promising. 

“Alright, we’re here.” Bucky says. Clint startles, not realizing they stopped. 

“Ok,” he says quietly, face red. 

Bucky says nothing about his inattention, simply handing him an umbrella. Clint fumbles with it a little, while Bucky retrieves his luggage from the backseat. 

The umbrella opens abruptly, causing him to flinch. He follows Bucky up the cobblestone footpath. Sam’s house is large, one story like Steve and Bucky’s, but more bricked. 

Clint stares at everything, slightly overwhelmed. He hasn’t really been to someone else’s house before. 

He cringes, wondering what he’s supposed to do when Sam opens the door. He’s seen handshakes on T.V. but mostly when strangers meet. 

Should he do that? He technically already knows Sam, and has already given him a handshake, so he’s not sure if that’s appropriate. 

He continues to mildly panic as Bucky walks up the porch steps, and knocks on the door. Clint stares as the door opens, swallowing. 

Sam’s got a wide smile on his face when he answers the door, looking at them both, “There you are!”

“Nice to see you again, Clint,” he says warmly. Silence follows as Clint forces himself to respond. 

“You too,” Clint says shyly. Sam smiles at him, then looks at Bucky.

“Is today a hugging day or a fist bump day?” He says, leaving Clint confused. 

Bucky grins, closing the distance between them to give him a hug. 

Sam chuckles when they let go.

“Come on in, Clint,” he gestures into his open doorway.

“Begone. I’m done with you!” Sam tosses over his shoulder. 

Bucky cackles, “Screw you too, Wilson!”

Sam closes the front door gently, showing Clint where to put his collapsed umbrella. 

The house is more open than Steve and Bucky’s, expansive living room opening up to a large kitchen. A granite counter wraps around a wall. There’s also a counter that stands alone, with four stools. 

There’s a dining area that bridges the kitchen and living room, wooden oval table bracketed by cushioned chairs. 

The living room has different shades of brown, and the deep chestnut rug looks soft. A couch is pushed up against the wall, leaving plenty of room for a wood coffee table and a T.V. stand. 

It’s cozy. 

Clint opens his mouth to say something, anything, when rapid clacking and thudding fills his ears. 

A _humongous_ dog comes bounding down the hallway, tongue wagging, tail going a mile a minute. 

Before the dog can barrel into him, a sharp whistle, that isn’t coming from Sam, cuts through the air. The dog pauses, whining slightly as it sits. 

Clint watches Sam rub the dog’s huge head. A faint scent catches his attention, making him look up. 

He startles at the enormous alpha approaching them, expression cold. 

He’s somehow taller than _Thor._

“So if it isn’t Carl,” he says sternly, arms crossed. 

Clint looks away, watching the dog pant. He doesn’t bother to correct the alpha. 

“Q,” Sam says in warning. 

‘Q’ snickers. Clint looks up, the alpha has a wide grin on his face. 

“Just kidding. Nice to meet you Clint. Name’s M’Baku. Sam calls me Que, it’s a frat thing.” 

“Hi,” Clint says softly, turning his attention back to the dog. 

“That’s Winston,” M’Baku says, smirking slightly, “He’s a St. Bernard but he thinks he’s a lapdog.” 

Clint itches to pet him, hand reaching out somewhat before he catches himself. 

“Remember Wins, be gentle,” Sam says, grabbing onto the dog’s collar, “Up.”

Winston immediately gets on all four paws, his whole body wiggling under Sam’s hand. He’s so big, that every time he moves there’s faint thudding on the floor. 

“Do you want to pet him?” Sam offers. 

Clint looks at him in awe. 

He does. 

More than anything. 

He walks over to the big dog, tentatively reaching a hand out. 

Winston is absolutely delighted to have a new friend, tapping his paws impatiently as he waits for Clint to pet him. 

Clint does, stroking his hand through the soft fur. Winston licks at him, thoroughly pleased with the attention. 

“Let’s get you settled in,” Sam says, grabbing his luggage. Clint reluctantly stops petting, trailing after him.

His disappointment is short lived, because he can hear Winston galloping after them. 

He thinks he’ll like it here.   
  


**_Day 1:_ **

Sam shows him to the guest room, and suggests he rest, bodily dragging Winston out of the room. If dogs could pout, Winston definitely mastered the skill.

The scent of the room is neutral, and Clint never would have guessed that an omega, let alone an alpha, lived here. 

Clint unpacks his toiletries, setting them on the sink carefully. The large shower has a deep bathtub, and he’s excited to give that a try. 

Moving back into the bedroom, he takes out Bucky’s shirt to place it by the pillow, blushing slightly. 

He situates his purple blanket across the mattress then climbs over top of it. He lays down, suddenly exhausted.

Before he succumbs to sleep, he grabs his math workbooks, knowing he should complete the next few exercises. He pulls out the pencil Bucky packed for him, and begins to read the word problems. 

Every couple questions, he’ll flip to the answer key in the back, gritting his teeth when he only gets a few right. The rest, he’s _way_ off. 

Too frustrated to deal with it anymore, Clint shoves the books back into his suitcase. As he climbs under the covers, his phone chimes. 

**Bucky:** Settling in ok?

He’s mostly figured out how to send a text, but it still takes him a moment to reply. 

**Clint:** Yes. 

Feeling better after having connected with Bucky, he only has to take one sniffle of the shirt before he’s asleep.   
  


**_Day 2:_ **

Clint startles awake as something heavy drops onto his bed. Heart seizing in terror, his eyes dart to the space next to him, bracing himself to see M’Baku. 

But the weight turns out to be Winston. The dog stares at Clint, tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

Clint can hear his tail thumping against the bed as Winston crawls closer. With a smile, Clint sits up gingerly, reaching out a hand to stroke the dog’s floppy ears. 

“Morning,” he whispers to the excited dog. As Clint’s petting him, hurried footsteps approach his cracked door. 

“Winston!” Sam says, looking disappointed in the dog. 

The dog acts coy, rolling onto his side to get closer to Clint. 

“I don’t mind,” Clint says softly. He _really_ doesn’t mind and hopes Sam will let Winston stay. 

“For someone so big, you sure know how to be sneaky,” Sam says sternly, though his face is soft in amusement. 

Winston looks at him innocently, laying his head down next to Clint’s hip. 

Sam sighs, “I’ll be back in an hour for his walk.” 

With that he leaves the room, much to Clint’s delight. 

After Winston’s walk, they have breakfast. Both Sam _and_ M’Baku are cheerful, even though the sun is just beginning to rise. 

Winston lays in the dog bed beside them, snoring loudly. 

As they eat Sam’s delicious and plentiful breakfast, M’Baku says, “Heard you’re Mr. HandyMan.”

Clint blushes, unsure where he got that from. M’Baku is unaffected by his lack of answer. 

“We’ve got a leaky pipe in the laundry room. Would you mind taking a look?” 

Clint nods. M’Baku beams at him. Sam smiles softly, eating his eggs quietly. 

After they finish eating, M’Baku leads him to the laundry room, gesturing to the pipe. 

Once Clint figures out all the parts, he makes quick work of solving the problem. Sam watches silently behind them, and his presence is comforting. 

“Hell yea,” M’Baku grins. He reaches into his pocket, handing Clint some dollar bills. Clint stares down at them, extremely confused. 

“What’s the look? Is it not enough?” M’Baku says. 

Clint can’t respond, touching his finger to each bill that reads 20. He counts each one, then counts it again. His mouth goes dry.

“$60?” he whispers in shock. He doesn’t understand. 

“Never work for free,” M’Baku winks at him. 

“Oh,” Clint says. He feels choked up, but he’s not sure why. 

“Thank you,” he says softly. He waits a moment, to see if they’ll take it back, say it’s all a joke, but they don’t.

Clint carefully folds the money, then puts it in his pocket with shaking hands. 

“I think I have an old wallet laying around, if you want to put your money in there instead,” Sam offers. 

He guides Clint to the couch, helping him fluff up the pillows to ensure he sits comfortably.

It doesn’t take long for Sam to return, keeping the length of a couch cushion between them as he sits. Clint discreetly breathes in his omega scent. The smell calms him in ways he’s not used to.

As he passes the wallet along, Sam looks at him kindly. 

“Would you be comfortable with me offering you a resource right now?” Sam says, body open and approachable. 

He doesn’t look expectant. Clint feels like he could refuse, if he wanted to, but he’s curious. 

“Ok,” he says quietly. 

“I work at the VA, helping veterans talk about their past. I know you’re not a Vet, but I think you may enjoy talking to someone. No expectations. No judgement.”

Clint gives Sam a blank look, trying desperately to understand what he’s talking about. 

“It’s called therapy, or counseling. You might want to give it a try. If you’re comfortable with giving me your number, I can send you a few links to therapists I think you would work well with.”

“Ok,” Clint says, still confused.

**  
_Day 3:_ **

“What were we thinking for dinner?” Sam says, coming into the living room. 

Clint sits on the couch so they can talk. 

“What do you want for dinner?” Sam asks again. Clint jolts when he realizes he’s being addressed too. 

“Pizza?” he says quietly. 

“Sound goo-”

“Huh?” M’Baku says, face scrunched up.

“Pizza’s fine.” Clint says again.

“Didn’t catch that,” M’Baku says, tilting his ear toward Clint. 

Clint breathes out, mad at himself for causing trouble.

“Pizza,” he says again.

“What?” M’Baku says, miming cleaning out his ear. Sam hits him in the chest with the back of his hand.

“Knock it off.”

“What? I just wanted him to speak up.”

Sam gives M’Baku an unimpressed look, opening his mouth to chastise him. 

“I can’t.” Clint says quietly, heart rate picking up. He avoids eye contact from them both. 

Sam looks at him, then sits on the couch, leaving distance between them.

“Clint, what’s happening right now?” He says.

There’s a pause. Clint puts his hands in his lap, and he can barely see them from where they lay under his belly. 

Sam looks at him patiently. M’Baku’s looking at him too, arms crossed, but he doesn’t look mad.

“I’m supposed to shut up,” he says finally. 

“Says who?” M’Baku sounds offended.

 _Shut up_ , his Claimer had grunted, when Clint gasped as he pushed into his inflamed hole.

 _Why do I still hear you? Shut the hell up,_ his Claimer said another day, after he’d warned Clint to stop whimpering. 

_If you don’t shut the fuck up, you’re getting lashed again,_ his Claimer said a different day, after Clint had accidentally moaned in pain. 

“Says who?” M’Baku demands incredulously.

Someone who..

he doesn’t live with anymore. 

“Oh,” Clint says softly, feeling light headed.

“So what food would you like to eat?” M’Baku says again. 

“Pizza,” Clint says quietly. M’Baku gives him a look, expectant. 

“I like pizza,” Clint says, louder, but still not as loud as how Bucky or Steve normally speak. 

M’Baku looks at him, waiting. Clint looks over at Sam, who’s giving him a soft encouraging look. 

“I like pizza.” He says, at the volume Steve and Bucky speak. 

M’Baku crosses his arms, a faint smile on his face. 

Clint raises his voice, just a bit louder, “I like pizza.”

“Louder,” M’Baku says with a smirk, then mischievously, “You won’t.”

It’s similar to how Bucky looks at him when they have a rematch. 

Competitiveness surges. 

He takes a deep breath, sits up and bellows, “I like pizza!”

Winston startles, and the house goes silent. Clint pants, eyes widening. He puts a hand on his belly, heart beating out of his chest. 

M’Baku gives him a wolfish grin, “Me too. You ever tried Hawaiian?” 

Clint shakes his head as Sam lets out a dramatic groan. 

“Poison. Literal Poison.”

“We’ll let Carl be the judge of that,” M’Baku says teasingly. 

As they wait for the pizza to arrive, Clint calls Bucky. He answers on the first ring.

“ _What’s wrong? What happened?_ ” The alpha sounds panicked, but Clint doesn’t even notice.

“I like pizza.” He says loudly, not quite a shout. He can hear Bucky heave a huge sigh of relief. 

“ _Have Sam order you some. Ignore M’Baku though, he has terrible taste in pizza._ ” 

“I heard that Barnes!”

“ _Good! Clint, I gotta go. Enjoy your dinner._ ” 

Clint grimaces when he tries M’Baku’s pizza; it’s nasty. Sam smiles smugly for the rest of the night.

**_Day 4:_ **

After a couple days, Bucky texts him to say he’s ready to pick him up. Clint’s sad about parting with Winston, but he hopes that he’ll be able to see the dog again sometime soon. 

As it gets closer to the time Bucky’s expected to arrive, Clint gets up from the couch, peaking through the front curtains.

Winston sits beside him, using his big head to push away the curtains to look outside too. 

Clint only has to stand there for about five minutes before the car rolls up. He clutches at his luggage, waiting impatiently for Bucky to walk up the driveway. 

Clint knows it’s rude, but he doesn’t wait for Sam to open the door, and instead swings it open himself. 

Bucky smiles at him, “Sam get on your last nerves?” 

Clint blushes, realizing how eager he looks. 

“No,” Sam rolls his eyes as he approaches them, “but Que sure got on mine.” 

Bucky laughs. Clint shifts nervously. Before he loses his courage, he takes a deep breath.

“Is today a hug day or fist bump day?” He asks, above a whisper. 

Bucky looks surprised, before he smiles gently, opening his arms. They hug, something that doesn’t happen often. 

After they pull away, Bucky grabs the luggage from Clint. 

As he climbs into the car, Clint looks behind him. Sam and M’Baku stand on the porch. He waves at them, a smile on his face. They grin, waving back as Bucky pulls away. 

***

The house is silent when they return. Bucky rolls the luggage toward Clint’s bedroom, and parks it outside the door. 

“You hungry?” Bucky asks. Even though Clint just ate, he nods his head. 

They make their way to the kitchen. 

Steve sits at the table, looking down at where his hand rests on the wood.

There’s a balloon tied to the chair Clint normally uses. 

Steve flinches when he looks up at Clint. His face is grey with misery. 

“I got you a balloon,” the alpha says hollowly. Clint hadn’t bothered to look at it long, too focused on taking in Steve’s downcast appearance. 

He looks at the balloon now. It reads, **WELCOME BACK!** with little smiley faces dancing around the text. Clint’s mouth parts, eyes wide. 

Bucky gives a world weary sigh, “How does spaghetti sound?” 

Clint nods eagerly; he loves Bucky’s spaghetti. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, looking ashamed. Clint flounders on how to help. 

He sits at the table, making Steve flinch again. 

Clint fishes out his phone; and taps at it. He feels good looking at these pictures, so he hopes Steve will too. 

“This is,” he says softly, trailing off. Clint clears his throat, swallowing once. 

He points his phone toward Steve, hand shaking, and says louder, steadier;

“This is Winston.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol yes you read that correctly. Clint was not involved in Steve's rut at all hahaha
> 
> Also there's actually 17 chapters to this fic I just miscounted oops lol
> 
> Thanks again!!
> 
> Inspiration: "Believing you are unworthy of love and belonging — that who you are authentically is a sin or is wrong — is deadly. Who you are is beautiful and amazing." - Laverne Cox


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! 
> 
> t/w: pre-natal health complications

There’s a hand on the back of his head, a steady pressure. He can’t move, because he’s been directed to sit still.

He can see the shine of a blade out of his peripheral vision. The blade moves closer, and there’s a faint rustling of clothes that kicks up an alpha’s scent. 

And the smell is right behind him. 

He jolts, almost falling forward. A hand on his shoulder stills him, making him jump away more.

“Shit, sorry Clint,” Bucky says, placing the scissors on the arm of the chair he’d pulled from the nursery, “Did I nick you?” 

Clint shakes his head, willing his heart to stop pounding out of his chest. Bucky still runs a gentle finger over the part of his hair he was in the process of cutting. 

“Hmm I don’t feel anything. Maybe we should take a breather anyway,” the alpha says.

Clint nods gratefully. He doesn’t care if his hair is half done or not; that’s what hats, or bandanas, are for. 

During the breather, Bucky cuts on the T.V. and clicks around until he finds a _Dog Cops_ rerun. The episode is one of his favorites, and Clint smiles as tension leaves his shoulders.

Bucky sits on the couch beside the chair, turning to look at him at every commercial break. 

Clint’s offended that they would disrupt his favorite episode for some stupid products he would never want. After the episode is through, Bucky stands up with a smile. 

“Wanna get back at it?”

Clint nods, shifting positions. He tenses when Bucky gets behind him, but the scissors stay on the arm of the chair. He feels fingers stroke his hair, coming up from the base of his neck to his forehead. 

Clint's eyes slide shut at the attention. He suddenly feels drowsy, and his throat is vibrating. It’s an odd sensation, but he’s too blissed out to care. 

A snip sounds right near his temples, and the sound is so repetitive, so slight, that it relaxes him more. 

“All done,” Bucky says. Clint tilts his head, looking at the alpha. 

Bucky smiles back, his face as calm as Clint feels. 

There’s a hint of brown in Bucky’s eyes. He never noticed before; they always seemed icy blue, but he’s able to pick up the minor details now that he’s staring into them. 

Bucky clears his throat, making Clint flinch at the abrupt sound. 

There’s a slight dusting of red over Bucky’s face when he says, “You want to learn how to drive?”

Clint nods eagerly. 

He’s disappointed when Bucky has him in the passenger seat for most of the lesson. The alpha drove them to an empty parking lot, then proceeded to point out different parts of the car.

Clint follows along, writing notes in his math practice journal. 

After Bucky points to the hazards for the umpteenth time, Clint’s patience has run out.

“Can I drive?” he asks tentatively. 

“Maybe not this time. Soon though.” 

Clint deflates; this lesson wasn’t going how he imaged it would.

Bucky doesn’t mention his sullen expression, instead uses a lever to push the driver seat as far as it will go. He shows Clint where his feet should go, and then shows him again. 

Bucky soon quizzes him on what they covered so far, and frustration builds as he gets most of the answers wrong. Bucky is patient with him, gently correcting his mistakes. 

Clint reaches a breaking point when he mistakes the windshield wiper controller for the reverse gear. He feels the corners of his eyes warm, and rubs at them harshly. 

“Sorry,” he says, voice wavering, “I’m stupid.” 

Bucky abruptly cuts the engine, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Clint flinches.

They sit in silence, as the alpha works his jaw, and Clint stares helplessly. He understands why Bucky is mad at him, he’s mad at himself too. 

“You aren’t stupid,” Bucky says quietly. Clint doesn’t argue with him, and instead places his hands on his lap. 

Bucky sighs, and drives them back. 

***

Later that night, Bucky wakes up in a cold sweat. Resurfacing from nightmares that are more memory than fiction is never easy, and it takes a moment for him to remember that he’s safe at home. 

There’s still the residual feeling of hands on him, the sound of men barking, the smell of distress, and the ache of hunger. He shudders, carefully extricating himself from Steve. 

His partner doesn’t wake, just shifts, brow a bit furrowed in his sleep. Relieved, Bucky snatches up a blanket and makes his way to the living room. He can’t risk hurting Steve. 

The couch feels cold when he lays down, having gotten used to sitting with Steve and Clint. 

Sweat dries uncomfortably as he catches his breath, heart pounding painfully. He’s on edge, and the blinking light from the video game console makes him grit his teeth. 

Bucky closes his eyes against it, but he can almost feel the flickering. He stands abruptly, jaw set, and yanks the power cord out of the socket. He lays back down, staring into the darkness that offers a cold comfort. 

He almost falls out of the couch when he sees a figure standing a couple feet away from him. At first, he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. He sniffles once, and realizes it’s Clint. 

“Did I wake you?” Bucky says tiredly, turning on the side lamp. In the dim lighting, Clint smiles at him softly and shakes his head.

“No,” he walks over to sit on the couch. Bucky flinches.

“You probably should get back in bed,” He says.

“I have bad dreams too,” Clint says softly. 

“I think we both need some rest then,” Bucky says, putting his head down. He can still see Clint, and his heart clenches painfully at his expression. 

“Night,” Bucky says. Clint hovers for a couple moments, staring at him. 

“Good Night,” Clint finally says with a frown. 

***

The night of Bucky’s nightmare sets the tone for the next few weeks. The alpha seems stressed, they all are, so Clint gives him space. 

Clint wishes Steve would give _him_ space. For someone with a job, the alpha seems to always be around. Always there to take him to his appointments with Dr. Wiffle.

Clint wishes Steve would just go himself because he certainly doesn’t care about the pregnancy anymore. 

Every appointment with Dr. Wiffle confirmed the truth he always knew. Clint is embarrassed, so ashamed, that Steve had to learn these things about him:

He can’t produce milk. 

He hadn’t slicked enough, had torn too much, and now he can’t give birth naturally. 

He may lose the pup. 

It’s proof that he’s a useless omega. 

And always has been. 

Dr. Wiffle, Steve, _and_ Bucky insist on blaming Noduline, and the lie is so grating, so condescending, that he can barely stand being around them.

He thought of calling Sam, asking to stay over, but he doesn’t want to admit how much he’s failed. 

Instead, he breathes that much easier when Steve is at work. Or Bucky is taking a nap. 

Clint is relatively alone now, and he takes advantage by creeping into the empty kitchen for a meal. He settles on a bowl of cereal, not having the energy to prepare anything else. 

His gait is starting to be more of a waddle now, and he fears he may spill the bowl. He makes it over to the kitchen table successfully though, and eats reluctantly.

The cereal tastes like ash, but his hunger pains are too apparent to ignore. 

As Clint shovels the cereal into his mouth, he stares at the refrigerator. The sonogram stares back.

He sizes up the dark image, taking in the details of it. The sonogram feels sentient, taunting him for his mistakes. 

He feels a pull, and suddenly he’s focused on the trashcan. Bucky recently took the trash out, but if Clint places the image at the very bottom of the can, then shoves some random items on top, he may be able to get away with it. 

He glances back at the photo, face hardening, and his head rolls back to the trash can. 

Steve suddenly appears in his mind’s eye. The alpha had been so excited to post it on the refrigerator he hadn’t even taken his winter coat off as he raced into the kitchen. 

Steve had pulled one of the sonograms out of the envelope, and slapped a magnet on top of it before Clint had even gotten into the kitchen. 

Steve’s blinding smile that day stops Clint from swiping the image off the refrigerator and throwing it away.

With a sigh, he stands gingerly, throws away the rest of his cereal, and goes to lay down. 

Clint wakes up feeling a bit more well rested. He shuffles back into the kitchen, and flinches violently when he sees Bucky leaning on the counter, drinking coffee. His sense of smell hasn’t been the best recently, but Clint hoped he’d at least be able to notice the alphas he lives with.

Bucky looks up when he comes in, looking half asleep. 

“Hey,” the alpha smiles tiredly, eyes bloodshot, “How ya’ feeling?” 

He feels nothing. 

“Fine,” Clint says instead. 

Bucky nods his head, “Tea?” 

“Sure,” Clint says. 

Dense silence falls on the room. Bucky doesn’t bother keeping conversation. And Clint has no intention of starting one. 

He pulls out his phone, tapping away at a mindless game he downloaded for free.

A text from Sam pauses his gameplay, and he forcibly swipes it away. He’ll respond later, but he’s not in the mood to enjoy pictures of Winston right now. 

Clint focuses back on the game, but his rhythm is gone. He puts his phone away, and sips his tea.

He wishes Bucky would sip his coffee, but instead he’s taking big gulps as if it was the last mug of coffee on earth.

Clint stares at Bucky’s throat as it pulls with each swallow. The alpha notices his stare, and smiles at him softly, as if he doesn’t realize how disruptive he’s being. 

He pushes away from the table before he takes his anger out on Bucky. 

Clint waddles from the kitchen to the nursery. He’s caught off guard for the second time.

Steve stands by the changing table, diapers littering the ground. He doesn’t even notice Clint at first, single mindedly focused on the task below him. 

Clint feels his temper rise when he takes in Steve placing a bag of flour on top of an open diaper. 

What’s the point?

It’s not until Clint is right at his elbow, that Steve notices him. The alpha jumps, then gives him a grin.

“I’ll get the hang of it soon,” he says happily, then blushes, “I’ll replace them.” 

Clint breathes out, and reaches to place a hand on the bag of flour gently. 

“Did you wanna try?” Steve asks with a smile. 

Clint’s grip tightens, and suddenly there’s flour everywhere. Over Steve, over Clint, over the changing table, and over the light purple rug below. 

They both flinch, and silence falls. 

“I guess I’ll clean this up,” Steve says with a hollow laugh. 

Clint stares down at what he’s done, and thinks, if anything, this is what he should be punished for.

He hasn’t thought it in a while, wouldn’t think they’d do it, but it makes no difference to him. 

He’s in his head, and flinches again when Steve starts gathering the flour into a pile. The mound grows, and Steve keeps his head down, focused on his task. 

The alpha’s eyes are red, and the shame and guilt Clint feels is overwhelming. 

“I’m sorry,” Clint says softly, feeling small. Steve keeps pushing the flour toward the middle of the changing table, even though he’s already gotten most of it out of the corners. 

“It’s ok,” Steve says, and he looks like he’s about to cry. 

“It’s not,” Clint says, and suddenly he feels like crying too, “I’m sorry. I’ll help clean it up.” 

They don’t talk as Steve runs a portable vacuum over the flour, and Clint uses a rag to clean off the changing table. Clint breathes out, and looks at the alpha that’s on the floor. 

“Steve,” Clint says, rubbing at his eyes. The alpha looks up, and he looks just as devastated as Clint feels.

“I’m scared,” Clint croaks. 

Steve gets to his feet immediately, and wraps him in a hug. 

“I am too,” he whispers into his ear, “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

Clint melts into his chest, never wanting him to let go. 

“Would you be up for an emergency appointment with Dr. Coulson? Just to talk about this?” Steve says. 

Clint nods into his chest. After a moment, Steve pulls away but maintains contact. Hands on Clint’s arms, he leans in, brushing his lips against the omega’s forehead. 

Clint closes his eyes, the attention calming him. 

Steve steps away quickly. His eyes are wet, “Sorry.”

Clint rubs at his eyes again, “It’s ok.”

Steve swallows, “I’m gonna go ahead and get changed.” 

Clint reaches to feel the phantom touch of Steve’s lips. After a moment, he drops his hands and waddles into his room. He needs to get changed too. 

***

When Steve gets to the bedroom, he’s greeted by a familiar sight. Bucky is laying in bed, curled up in a ball, staring at the wall. His partner doesn’t acknowledge his presence at all. 

Bucky hasn’t moved when Steve comes out the bathroom. He grits his teeth. 

He stands in front of Bucky, hands on hips, “Alright, I’m done with this.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, blinking out of his unfocused stare. 

“Have you eaten today?” Steve says, trying to keep the bite out of his voice. Bucky knows him well though, and he definitely picks up on it. Bucky sits up with a frown. 

“Yes,” he says, jaw clenched. 

“Other than coffee?” 

“Yes,” Bucky grits out, face hardening more than it already had been.

“Really? Because the kitchen looks nearly the same when you climb into this bed every night.” 

“I just told you I’m eating. Leave me alone.” Bucky turns over again, to continue staring at nothing. 

“Have you been taking your medicine?” Steve says, and his tone isn’t kind.

“Have you been taking _yours_? Oh, wait. They probably don’t work anymore, just like your suppressants.” 

Steve breathes in sharply, “You wanna say that again, Barnes.” 

Bucky sits up, and he looks horrible, “I’m sick of you pretending your brain isn’t as fucked up as mine.” 

“I’m managing, I mean I-,”

“Didn’t get the shit beaten out of you for 3 months? Who cares? You still got blown to hell too.” 

He lays down again, turning his back from where Steve stands. 

Steve leans over, and snatches the pillow from underneath his head. 

“This one’s mine,” he snaps.

Bucky barks out a fake laugh, pushing himself up, “Goddamn Rogers, how old are you again?” 

Steve just glares at him, fists tightening.

Bucky notices, and gives him a tight smile, “What, you gonna beat on me too?”

He snickers, but his face is hard, “You’re just like your father.” 

Silence falls, and Bucky immediately looks mortified. 

“Oh my god, Steve. That was way too far. I’m so sorry. Jesus Christ.”

Steve stares at him, and drops his hands out of the fists, “You’re right. That was too far.”

He sits on the bed beside Bucky, giving him a sad smile. 

“What the hell are we doing?” Steve says.

Bucky shakes his head, face softening, “Confronting unresolved sexual tension?” 

Despite himself, Steve laughs, “It _has_ been a while.”

“God, that argument was gross,” Bucky says, shoving a pillow over his face.

Steve gently lifts it, staring down at his partner.

“This can’t happen again. I’m calling Dr. Banner.”

Bucky looks up at him, smiling softly, “Yea, ok.”

Steve climbs into bed, slotting himself behind Bucky. He holds him tightly, and brushes a kiss over his temple. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

“Love you too,” Bucky says softly, allowing himself to be cradled, “Wanna have sex?”

Steve holds him tighter, and huffs out a fond laugh, “Shut up.”

***

After visiting their specialists, things don't magically get better but slowly and surely, life gets a little easier to bear. 

Steve becomes almost aggressively optimistic, finding different activities that will occupy the time. 

When he hears the door unlock, Clint pauses his show. Steve’s developed a habit of talking over the T.V. when he’s excited about something. And if his delighted grin is any indication, Steve is _definitely_ excited about something. 

“Bucky!” He sing-songs. Clint can hear Bucky grumble, before he enters the living room. He eyes Steve warily, because he’s become used to that pleased expression too. 

Steve brandishes a shopping bag, but it barely looks like it has anything in it.

“Nice,” Bucky says, looking at him incredulously. Steve smirks, digging into the bag and pulling out fabric. 

Clint looks at it curiously.

“We’re tie-dying sweatbands!” Steve says, looking extremely pleased with himself. Bucky groans.

Despite Bucky’s reluctance, he still helps Steve put a plastic tablecloth over their kitchen table. 

“It stains,” Steve says, when he notices Clint’s confusion. The omega smiles in response, Steve’s energy is infectious. 

After Steve gives directions, Clint gets even more eager. Steve puts on some music they all like, and they get to work. 

Clint focuses completely on pouring ink, until he sees Bucky tense. 

“Steve,” the alpha says, and he sounds horrified. Clint looks around in worry, but he doesn’t see anything concerning. 

Bucky’s tone doesn’t change, “What are we making sweatbands for?” 

“I’m so glad you asked,” Steve grins wickedly.

And that’s what finds them in the living room, the next day, with all the furniture pushed to the wall.

Steve wears his dried sweatband proudly, and it makes his blond hair stand at weird angles. 

Clint puts his on too, and even though it's not as nice as Steve’s, he’s still proud of his work. 

Bucky has his clutched in his hand, and they both look at him expectantly. He sighs, and pulls the sweatband over his head. 

The alpha barely has a design, and opted to make most of it into a dark blue color. 

Steve claps his hands once, looking excited, “Oh wait! I almost forgot!” 

With that, Steve rushes down the hall.

Clint watches him go, confused. It doesn’t take Steve long to come back, and his grin hasn’t wavered.

He throws down three yoga mats. 

Bucky cackles, “You stole those from work.”

“ _Borrowed_ ,” Steve hisses. He puts on an exercise video. He helps Clint sit on his yoga mat, and then settles on his own. 

Bucky joins them reluctantly, sitting with his legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles. 

Steve beams at them, and starts the yoga video. All of the omegas shown in the video are pregnant, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind, following along intently.

Clint watches him, trying to get the hang of the different positions. 

His mouth goes dry as the instructor gets on her hands and knees, arching her back slightly.

Clint freezes, stuck in the crouch he’s currently in. Steve snatches up the remote, and fast forwards. 

“Let’s see what else we’re supposed to do,” he stammers. Clint nods, breathing out a sigh of relief. 

The rest of the exercise goes well, and even Bucky appears to get into it. Once the video ends, Steve’s smile has softened. Clint smiles a bit too. 

When they’re cleaning up, Clint waddles over to Steve. He doesn’t know how to ask, besides looking up at Steve with a soft expectant look. The alpha can tell what he wants anyway, leaning down to brush a kiss over his forehead. 

Clint smiles as he always does, rubbing at the spot as he looks over at Bucky. The alpha gives them a soft look, before he returns to his task of rolling up the yoga mats. 

After they finish cleaning, Bucky wanders off to take a nap. Steve sits on the couch, a content smile on his face as he finds something to watch. 

Clint joins him, eyeballing the rapidly changing screen. A couple minutes pass until Clint can feel Steve staring at him. 

“Wanna go see a movie?” the alpha says. 

Clint looks at him questionably; Steve had already found a movie to watch. 

“I mean the theater? There’s one a couple miles from here. Have you been? We can add it to your list,” Steve smiles at him. 

Clint doesn’t know what to expect but, “Sound like fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to those out there that are battling depression (or can relate to what these characters are going through). It may not feel like it, but you're putting up one hell of a fight!! 
> 
> Inspiration: "Sometimes, life will kick you around, but sooner or later, you realize you're not just a survivor. You're a warrior, and you're stronger than anything life throws your way." - Brooke Davis
> 
> Thank you for reading. (Also just a reminder of the unreliable narrator piece)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! : )

After only a few hours of sleep, Bucky’s eyes slide open tiredly, not sure what woke him up.

Patting around beside him answers that question. Steve isn’t in bed, and judging by the lack of sounds, he isn’t in the bathroom either.

With a groan, Bucky throws himself out of bed, mildly offended that he’s lost his big spoon.

He finds Steve sitting in the nursery, back facing the door, and muttering to himself.

Concerned, Bucky says tentatively, “Steve?”

No response.

Bucky gets closer, peering over Steve’s hunched back.

“Oh shit, oh fuck, oh god,” Steve mutters in a panicked whisper.

He’s got a teal onesie in his hands.

Bucky sits on the floor beside him, gently grabbing the fabric from Steve’s trembling fingers.

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, because he’s pretty sure he already knows. He slings an arm over Steve’s shoulders.

“I had a dream,” Steve begins quietly, “The baby was about a year old, just crying, for hours. And I was trapped in a jar, couldn’t even comfort her. And I sat down. I sat down and ignored her.”

Steve trembles, sounding miserable, “God, what if I’m a bad father? I couldn’t even help the dream baby, and the real pup isn’t even here yet. Jesus Christ.”

He lifts the onesie from Bucky’s hand with a sigh, placing it in his lap.

Bucky lets him, eyebrows hitting his hairline in shock. Steve hasn’t realized what he just said, and Bucky isn’t going to draw attention to it.

Instead, he stands, groaning at how stiff sitting on the floor made him.

He reaches out with his metal hand, “Come on, let’s go to bed. You got a movie to catch tomorrow.”

Steve nods, using the hand as leverage to stand. He leaves the onesie on the dresser and follows Bucky back into their bedroom.

Once the stress hormones leave him, Steve crashes hard, snoring loudly in Bucky’s ear.

Bucky follows soon after, a smile on his face as he drifts to sleep.

***

“Your ass looks great in that one,” Bucky says from his place on their bed, rolling onto his stomach to watch his partner panic.

Steve startles, dropping the jeans he’s holding. They flutter onto the bed, joining the other four pairs he’s tried on.

He gives Bucky an unimpressed look, “I don’t need comments from the peanut gallery.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Aren’t you supposed to dress to impress on a date?” he leers, “and what better way than to show off your… assets.”

Steve doesn’t even chide him for the terrible flirting, too busy sputtering.

“It’s not a date!”

Bucky heaves a dramatic sigh.

“It’s not!” Steve protests, “he hasn’t been out of the house in awhile, besides the appointments. As a matter of fact _you_ haven’t been out of the house in a while either.”

Bucky looks at him seriously, but his tone is light, “I’m not in the headspace to be out in public today.”

“Ok, thanks for telling me,” Steve nods, dropping it.

“Besides,” a smirk curves Bucky’s lips, “I’m not up for third wheeling either.”

“Oh my god Buck, it’s not like that!”

Steve’s face is pinched in guilt.

Bucky sighs.

“Stevie, we talked about this, then talked about this, and talked about this, did I mention we talked about-“

His partner cuts off his teasing by throwing a pillow at his face.

Bucky lets out a breathless laugh as the pillow falls to the floor.

“As long as he’s fine with it, I’m fine with it,” Bucky shrugs with a smile.

Steve sighs, “Buck.”

“Bring me some Sno-Caps from your not-date.”

“I’m getting you Twizzlers.” Steve says, on his way to get changed.

Bucky cackles, “Even better!”

Steve comes out of the bathroom in muted cologne, dressed in a light blue sweater and well fit jeans.

Bucky snickers.

“Zip it,” Steve glares at him.

“Stevie’s got a crush!” Bucky trills.

Steve immediately shushes him.

“Bucky!” he hisses, “What if he hears you?”

“Wouldn’t that be a shame,” Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Well, what about you?” Steve says, crossing his arms.

“What?” Bucky huffs out a laugh, tone mirthful. He’s met with a stern look.

“Wait, you aren’t kidding?” Bucky says incredulously, “We’re bros! Gaming buddies!”

Steve shakes his head fondly, “I’ll be back with your candy corn in a couple hours.”

“Gross!”

Steve laughs as he leaves the room.

***

Bright colorful lights, the scent of popcorn, and the sounds of multiple conversations startles Clint into freezing at the entrance of the theater.

Steve stands beside him, leaning down to brush his lips against Clint’s forehead.

Feeling better from the comfort, Clint allows himself to be led through the theater.

His eyes widen when they step into _15_ as instructed by the ticket attendant.

Clint takes in everything, thoroughly entertained before the movie even begins.

When the film starts, the images jump off the screen, and he can feel the vibrations of the speakers during intense moments.

Clint leans forward in his seat as much as his stomach allows, barely noticing something bouncing off the back of his head.

It happens again, and Clint shakes his head slightly to dislodge it. A piece of popcorn lands on his stomach, and there’s giggling behind him.

Oh.

Before he can react, Steve leaps to his feet, looking incensed in a way he hasn’t since they met.

People immediately complain about the blocked screen but the alpha doesn’t react at all.

He glares down at Clint’s assailants, “How ‘bout you throw some popcorn in my hair too?”

Clint looks behind him and from his limited view he sees two teenagers hurriedly shaking their heads.

He flushes at Steve’s indignation, pulling on the alpha’s shirt to get him to calm down. 

“I can’t see!” Someone says.

After another pointed look, Steve sits down.

Clint’s enjoyment isn’t dampened by the altercation, and he’s more than a little disappointed when the end credits roll up the screen.

Steve helps him out of the chair, and they leave the theater. Clint holds onto his popcorn tightly, wanting to save some for later.

As they walk to the car, Steve seems bothered by something.

The alpha starts the car, but he doesn’t even reach for the reverse gear, and grips the steering wheel tightly.

Clint starts to get nervous, wondering if Steve is mad at him.

Before he can ask, the alpha lets out a shaky breath.

An eternity later, Steve says, “Bucky was teasing me earlier, saying this is a date.”

“Ok,” Clint says, confused.

In response, Steve begins to stammer incoherently.

Clint watches him warily, unable to comprehend any of it.

“Let me try this again without sounding like an idiot,” Steve says with a sigh, “I want to kiss you, but you can say no, I mean you really don’t have to. I swear.”

Uncertainty flickers on the alpha’s face, noticeable worry that the omega will feel obligated.

Clint watches the panic mounting in the alpha’s eyes as Steve finally says, “Can I kiss you?”

“No,” Clint says, just to show Steve that he can.

The alpha nods quickly, “Ok, sorry.”

Clint swallows, and says shakily, “Ask me again?”

Steve searches his face.

Realization blooms, and he gives Clint a small smile of understanding.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Clint says softly.

Steve does, leaning over the center console to cradle his jaw. He brushes their lips together gently.

Clint has never been kissed before, and he’s not sure what to do. He tries his best, returning the touch of lips clumsily.

Steve doesn’t seem to mind, leading him through it.

When they seperate, the alpha is completely red. He clears his throat, and backs the car out of the spot.

They both smile softly to themselves on the way back.

***

The time that follows is difficult. Steve continues to be wary, hesitating each time he bends down for a kiss.

The pause is always awkward, and Clint doesn’t know how else to give permission besides nodding his head.

The first time Clint turns his face away, unable to bear the touch of an alpha, Steve backs off for the entire day.

Steve never pushes the issue, and keeps distance when Clint silently asks for it.

Even when Steve doesn’t touch him, Clint feels hyper aware of his presence, and sitting next to him doesn’t feel the same.

During a mid day movie marathon, Clint opts to sit in the chair while the alphas cuddle up on the couch.

Though they always tend to watch the movies in silence, the current quiet disconcerts him.

He’s relieved when Steve untangles himself from Bucky’s embrace, taking it upon himself to grab them snacks.

Just as Clint relaxes in the alpha’s absence, his phone vibrates against the side of his leg. He startles severely, fumbling to pick it up;

 **Bucky:** Perfect opportunity to kiss him ;)

Clint has never initiated one before. He looks up at Bucky, surprised by the encouragement. 

**Bucky:** Only if you want to :)

Bucky smirks, tilting his head toward the kitchen.

He does want to. Still, he hesitates, face red. Bucky texts him a little picture of a thumbs up, face softening.

He mouths, _You got this_.

Clint swallows, climbing to his feet slower than necessary. He waddles to the kitchen, just as slow, hand on his stomach.

Steve leans against the counter, sipping a glass of water as popcorn pops beside him. A smile blossoms on his face as Clint comes in.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hi,” Clint returns with a nervous smile, mouth dry as he approaches the alpha.

Mind blanking, he says again, “Hi.”

“Are you ok?” The alpha says, brow furrowed in worry.

Instead of answering, Clint stands in front of him awkwardly.

After a deep breath, he holds onto Steve’s shirt for leverage and stands on his tiptoes.

Steve still needs to lean down slightly, but it’s Clint that closes the distance between them.

To hold him steady, Steve’s arm wraps around the small of his back.

Clint flinches away from the touch.

“Sorry,” Steve says, removing his arm. He bends down more, allowing Clint to keep his balance.

As they kiss, Clint realizes he wants this with Bucky too. He thinks the alpha wouldn’t be pushy either and it would feel as good as kissing Steve.

The thought occupies his mind for the rest of the movie.

A plan begins to form, and he works up the courage when Bucky takes a nap, and Steve leaves for the store.

He pulls out his list:

  1. ~~Hug~~
  2. ~~Low Mane~~ ~~Lo Mein~~
  3. ~~Trouble Man Marven Gay~~
  4. ~~Use Shampoo~~
  5. ~~Watercolor painting~~
  6. Vacuum
  7. ~~Water a plant~~
  8. ~~Disney Movies~~
  9. ~~Build Snowman~~
  10. Ride Elevator
  11. ~~Color in a coloring book~~
  12. Learn to drive
  13. Wear a tie
  14. ~~Bake apple pie~~
  15. Multiplication and Division
  16. ~~Eat Wakandan Food~~
  17. Walk Winston
  18. ~~Visit Dr. Coulson~~
  19. ~~Blow bubbles~~
  20. ~~Finish a puzzle~~
  21. ~~Go to the movies~~



At the bottom, he adds shakily;

_Kiss Bucky_

He places the list on the coffee maker, where he knows Bucky will see it.

Proud of taking initiative, he relocates to his room, climbing into bed to rest on his pregnancy pillow.

Sleep doesn’t come, but he doesn’t mind. After a little over an hour, he hears Bucky moving around in the kitchen.

Clint sits up, nervously playing with some loose fabric on his pillow. By now, Bucky would have seen it.

The omega waits, shifting to find a more comfortable position now that he’s sitting up.

He hears, and smells, Bucky get closer to his door. Heart pumping out of his chest, he opens his mouth to say, _Come In_.

The alpha walks past once, before passing back toward the living room a short while later.

Confused, Clint heaves himself out of bed.

He creeps to the kitchen first, checking to make sure the list didn’t fall to the ground.

He spots the piece of paper sitting next to the freshly used coffee maker.

Which means that Bucky _definitely_ saw the addition to the list, and chose to ignore it.

Face flaming in embarrassment, he grabs the list, and hurries to his bedroom, as much as he can hurry nowadays.

He’s tempted to flush it, but he doesn’t want to part with all his listed activities. He settles on crumbling the paper into a ball and chucking it under his bed.

He breathes out once, and reluctantly joins Bucky in the living room.

The alpha looks up when he approaches, a small smile on his face.

Clint wants to believe that maybe he _didn’t_ see it, but the alpha’s smile is a little tighter than normal, and there’s a faint red to his cheeks.

Clint swallows, mad at himself for making Bucky uncomfortable.

There’s an awkward pause where Clint isn’t sure if he should sit in the chair, or join Bucky on the couch.

The alpha clears his throat, waving a controller at him enticingly, “Wanna play a round?”

Clint does want to play, if only to distract himself. He sits on the couch and loses every match, too busy drowning in mortification to play well.

The next few hours of the day pass by painfully. Clint wants to hide in his room, but he’d be even more ashamed if he let on how humiliated he feels.

Instead, he pretends like it didn’t happen, just like Bucky, until it’s time to go to bed.

After Steve kisses him goodnight, Clint gladly escapes to his room.

***

For hours, he struggles to get to sleep.

His mind is racing, and he feels restless. Clint shuffles to the kitchen to make some chamomile tea.

He pauses as he rifles through the mugs. Each cabinet suddenly seems overcrowded, and the way Bucky arranged the pots and pans make no sense to him.

He starts there, knowing getting up off the floor is something he should do while he still has the energy.

Separating them by size is not satisfying, nor is by type. He tries color, but the vast majority of them are a deep gray or black color, so he doesn’t get far with that.

Thoroughly frustrated, he uses the cabinet doors as leverage and climbs to his feet. He takes a moment to rest, feeling winded from the exertion.

Once he catches his breath, he gets started on sorting the cups. But the cups are where the plates should be, and the plates are where the mugs should be.

Clint rearranges them as best he can, back starting to protest.

“Damn,” Clint says under his breath, dissatisfied with his work.

He waddles back into his room, and melts into the bed in exhaustion.

He dozes lightly, unable to succumb to a deeper sleep.

Annoyed, he sits up, making him realize his hole is swollen, even though he’s not aroused at all.

The back pains worsen, joined by a painful clenching above his hips.

Clint grimaces, forcing himself to get into the shower. Hot water has helped in the past, and he’s eager to step under the spray.

But after a couple minutes, the water doesn’t add much relief.

Clint grits his teeth, bringing his hands up to brace against the shower wall.

He has the urge to squat slightly, so he does, swaying his hips side to side to alleviate the pressure.

Clint breathes in and out, and on the third breath he realizes his pup is coming.

Blind fear overtakes him.

The delivery isn’t for another couple days and he’s not ready.

Clint trembles against the shower wall, taking deep gulps of breath.

He can smell two alphas approaching, and rage pushes away his fear. He refuses to let them take his pup.

Clint hisses nastily, daring them to get closer.

He’s in no condition to fight.

But he will.

“Clint, it’s just us. It’s Bucky.”

Unable to think clearly, he spits out another warning hiss.

“Clint,” the alpha says again, and the familiar smells become more apparent.

Shoulders dropping in relief, he allows himself to be pulled into Bucky’s arms.

“Get the go-bags Stevie,” Bucky says calmly, not reacting at all to getting wet.

“On it.”

The trip to the hospital is quick. Clint isn’t sure if it’s because Steve is driving that fast or if he’s too out of it to make sense of time.

Bucky sits in the back with him, draping a warm blanket over his body.

Clint becomes a bit more coherent when he receives the spinal tap.

Neither alpha can come in with him, and his nerves heighten with being alone.

The medical personnel continue their preparation when he’s wheeled into the operating room.

They warned him, but the lack of alpha or omega scents sets him on edge.

When he’s laid on his back, a curtain blocking his bottom half, Clint is lightheaded with nerves.

Steve appears by his head a moment later in full hospital scrubs, a hair net, and mask.

Clint reaches out a hand immediately, and Steve latches on, squatting to eye level.

“How are you feeling?” the alpha says softly.

“I can’t feel my legs,” Clint says shakily.

Steve’s calm demeanor doesn’t waver, “Remember they said that would happen, that’s normal.”

“Ok,” Clint says, and he doesn’t know what to focus on.

He’s overwhelmed by the sound of machines, the smell of surgery, and the sensation of pulling near his stomach.

It’s a lot. It’s too much.

As if sensing his panic, Steve offers, “Do you want a scent sample?”

Clint nods, “Bucky."

Steve gives him a soft smile.

A nurse hands him the aforementioned sample in a clear case. Steve pulls out a cloth smelling of Bucky’s scent and rests it under Clint’s nose.

Calmed, he looks around the room.

He inhales sharply when his exploration leads him to the ceiling. The reflection of the lights give him a very distorted, but clear, image of the surgery.

That’s a lot of blood.

A warm hand gently turns his head to the side. Steve’s face takes up most of his view.

“Just look at me ok?” the alpha says.

He does, staring into the blue of his eyes.

“I hope she makes it,” Clint whispers, swallowing against the lump in his throat. Steve’s steadiness wavers then, a glimpse of fear overtaking his face.

“You’re doing great Clint,” a nurse interjects.

It’s only another moment before the same nurse says, “Here she comes!”

Steve pokes his head up immediately, almost bringing the curtain down in his urgency.

“She’s out,” he says, looking back down at Clint. There’s tears in his eyes.

“Is she-?” _Healthy?_ _Alive?_

Before Steve responds, there’s his baby, held above the curtain. Clint stares in shock, unable to comprehend that his daughter is alive, and she looks healthy.

“We’re just going to give her a check up and then you can hold her ok?”

Clint doesn’t blink until his pup is lifted from the assessment bed and walked over to him.

His baby is placed on his chest, Steve helping support the tiny body. Clint brings up trembling arms to embrace her.

He holds on tightly, tears of relief streaming down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint has finally given birth! 
> 
> Also, I was thinking of doing a mini series of Clint’s list. (In the distant future lol) It would, probably, be called The Man in Me Bits & Pieces, if anyone would be interested. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! I really appreciate you!
> 
> Inspiration: "All of us, at some time or other, need help. Whether we're giving or receiving help, each one of us has something valuable to bring to this world. That's one of the things that connects us as neighbors--in our own way, each one of us is a giver and a receiver." - Mr. Rogers


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! I am actually overwhelmed with the response this fic is getting!! Never would have thought so many people would like this! Thank you so much, it means a lot!

Recovering is not easy. 

The first time Clint takes a step away from the hospital bed, he’s pretty sure there’s no hope he’ll ever walk again. He stumbles as soon as his socked feet hit the floor. 

Bucky comes to his rescue, offering his metal arm for Clint to use as a brace. The omega gladly clings on, Bucky practically dragging him to the bathroom. 

Once they make it to the threshold, Bucky lets go gently. Clint shuffles in, locking the door behind him.

It should be embarrassing, even scary, that an alpha is helping him to the bathroom. But Bucky does it so casually, that Clint feels the same as when Steve helps him eat. 

Still, he’s in a lot of pain and leery about taking the medication they provide. He has no way of knowing with certainty how his body will react to the meds after Noduline wreaked havoc. 

Though one day, Steve catches him spitting out a pain medication pill, and his look of worry was enough for Clint to swallow it.

When he’s released from the hospital, spending time away from Rose is too much to bear, and where Clint goes, he makes sure his pup goes too. 

The only time he’s away is when he’s showering, and even then, he’s got the baby monitor in a plastic bag hanging from his shower head. 

He would take 30 second showers if he could, but he doesn’t want his incision to become infected. That would land him in the hospital once again, and he’s afraid he’ll be separated from Rose.

Clint rests in bed, exhausted from feeding Rose her lunch, but he can’t sleep. He thinks about his pup, and how anything could happen if he lets down his guard. 

The thought circles through his mind until he can’t help but check on her again. 

What if someone climbed through a window and kidnapped her? 

What if she choked on something, and he was too busy sleeping to save her? 

He would never forgive himself. 

The walk to the nursery, though short, is incredibly painful. Rose is just as he left her, sleeping quietly in her crib. He stares at her dirty blond hair, her small hands and feet, and the yellow onesie Steve put her in.

He checks the crib first, looking for any loose screws or cracks in the wood. He doesn’t find anything, so he moves on with his inspection. 

Clint runs his fingers over the walls. They may have painted over some holes and not even realized it. After almost thirty minutes later, Clint is satisfied enough to go lay back down.

His bed is soft as always, but sleep eludes him. He sits up, inhaling sharply when the action pulls at his stomach wound.

Unable to muster the energy to make it to the nursery, Clint starts thinking of another action plan. He pulls out his phone, in relief, when he comes up with an idea. In the household text group, he types out;

 **Clint:** _To Bucky: pls turn off oven when done_

He doesn’t smell any food cooking, but he reasons with himself that Bucky will cook sometime today. It’s only a few minutes later that he gets a response.

 **Bucky:** _Ok_

Instantly gratified, Clint starts thinking of other things that will keep his pup alive. Over the next few hours he sends numerous messages. He looks at the ones he’s most proud of:

 **Clint:** _To Steve: pls lock front door_

 **Clint:** _To Steve: also lock windows_

 **Clint:** _To Bucky: heat on_

Just for good measure, so he doesn’t come across as rude, he sends a smiling face after each message. They always reply, Steve mostly replying later than Bucky since he’s at work. 

Feeling better about the state of the house, he drifts to sleep after over 4 hours of texting. 

His sleep is light enough that he can smell Steve coming towards his room. He blinks blearily, wondering what the alpha could want.

A knock sounds on his door. 

Clint clears his throat, “Come in.” 

Steve does, but his expression puts Clint on edge. He looks sad, maybe a bit worried, but Clint’s not sure why. 

“Can we talk?” Steve says.

Clint nods, suddenly wary. Did something happen to Rose? He’s tempted to go and check on her, but he already agreed to talk to Steve first. 

There’s silence, then, “Are you ok?” 

“Is Rose ok?” Clint says, panicked.

“Yes, she’s fine. Great. I just checked on her.”

Clint lets out a sigh of relief, not even realizing how tense he was.

“Uh,” Steve says.

Clint looks up at him, confused. He rubs at his wound, a habit he hasn’t been able to break since he left the hospital.

They stare at each other in silence until Steve finally says, “How’s pizza for dinner?”

Clint nods immediately, excited. He hasn’t had pizza in a while and he’s looking forward to eating some.

On the way to the living room, Clint walks into the nursery. Rose is awake, legs kicking out. She’s not upset, and seems content to wiggle around.

He leans down, cradling her head and neck, before lifting her into his arms. She stares up at him with wide brown eyes. 

Though the pup is not quite old enough to smile, he can sense she’s happy. She isn’t hungry, and Steve must have recently changed her diaper.

He smiles at her, and sniffles slightly, enjoying the scent of a calmed pup. The smell is soon overpowered by the scent of pizza leaking down the hall. 

Annoyed, he shuffles slowly into the living room, his pup held firmly to his chest. Steve and Bucky are already on the couch, unreadable expressions on their faces. 

When he comes in, their eyes dart to his pup before looking back at him. There’s a TV tray in front of his chair with 2 slices of pizza and a jalapeño pepper. He looks forward to eating, but right now, the priority is his pup. 

He places Rose in the portable crib in the living room. If he had his way, there would be another in his room, and the kitchen, but the alphas didn’t seem pleased with the idea.

Clint dropped it, for now, but if he finds a reason to push the issue he will.

They turn away when Clint eases himself into the chair. His pup stares at him from the bottom of the mesh crib. He smiles at her tiredly, scooting forward to turn on the music box clipped to the side of the crib.

As the music moves through the air, Clint notices how silent the room is. He looks up at the alphas, but nothing seems out of the ordinary as Bucky flicks through channels and Steve bites into a slice of pizza.

Clint focuses on his own food, nibbling on it as he stares down at his daughter. The pizza tastes heavenly, and he happily finishes a slice as Rose blinks her big eyes around her field of vision.

When he finishes one slice, he turns his attention to the jalapeño peppers. He hasn’t had _those_ in a while either and he’s excited to demolish them just as he did during his pregnancy.

Clint shoves one in his mouth, biting half off. Immediately his eyes water, he gags, spitting the chewed up pepper onto his plate. 

Clint coughs violently, sending his wound into agony. Though, he’s more than willing to deal with that if he can get the taste out of his mouth.

The peppers are _disgusting._

Rose starts crying, wailing as she typically does when any of the adults smell of distress.

He flinches when Steve appears in his line of vision.

“What happened?” He says, sounding close to panicked, and it's hard to hear him over his crying pup. The alpha makes an aborted movement, as if to touch him, but pulls his hand away.

Clint reaches with trembling hands to gulp down his glass of water but it doesn’t help. 

A cup of milk appears in his line of vision and he snatches it up gratefully. After a moment, the spice in his mouth dwindles. His pup stops crying, cradled in Steve’s arms. 

His alpha scent always calms Rose, Clint’s not sure if it’s because he was the first alpha she smelled, or if it's just Steve’s scent.

If Bucky held her, Clint would be able to tell the difference but the alpha never has. Regardless, he’s relieved that Steve can calm her, and doesn’t mind leaving her with him. 

Steve being her father on paper helps, but the largest part is the alpha’s protective and steady presence. 

He lets Steve sit with her cradled in his arms, dinner forgotten. Clint eyeballs the pair as he eats his own food, avoiding the peppers.

***

Bucky is very concerned. The first week, he was not surprised that Clint was a bit overprotective. 

He’s relieved that Steve is allowed to hold the pup, and he has a feeling that Clint would allow him to hold her too, but he can’t risk it. Bucky would never forgive himself if he hurt her with his metal arm.

He helps as best he can in other ways; preparing bottles, cleaning, buying supplies, cooking, and completing the tasks that Clint… texts them.

When the omega shuffles away, with Rose, from their pizza dinner, Bucky knows another text is coming soon. 

Sure enough, their phones buzz at the same time a couple minutes later. He looks away from where Clint left, and cuts an eye at Steve. He looks just as worried as Bucky feels.

Steve reaches to grab his phone, but before he can, Bucky gently covers his partner’s hand with his own.

“How did your conversation go?” Bucky says quietly. Steve shifts from his place on the couch, face pinched with guilt. 

Bucky sighs, “Jesus Christ.” 

Steve glares at him, looking at him pointedly.

Bucky shakes his head, and removes his hand from Steve’s. He grabs his own phone, looks at it, and sighs again, “Guess I better… check the cabinets for spiders.” 

Cabinets checked, Bucky creeps down the hall to take a nap. He glances into the nursery, to make sure Rose hasn’t made her way into Clint’s bed as she has before. 

She’s in the crib, and from what he can see from the door, she’s asleep too. 

“You haven’t held her yet.”

Bucky jumps into the ceiling, hand clapped over his mouth before he can scream Rose awake. Steve stands in the hallway, looking self righteous.

“How do you know? I coulda when you weren’t here,” Bucky says defensively.

“You haven’t held her yet.” Steve repeats flatly. 

Bucky shushes him, “You’ll wake up RoRo.” 

Steve peeks into the nursery, looking around dramatically. When he turns back to Bucky his eyes are narrowed. 

“Pretty sure she’s asleep,” he says under his breath, face hard. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, “I’ll hold her after my nap.”

Steve scoffs. 

Bucky doesn’t take the bait, not willing to get into it with Steve right then. He continues to their bedroom, and Steve lets him. 

His sleep is troubled, but this one time he considers it a gift, because he thinks he may have a plan on how to get through to Clint.

He pauses once he reaches the room, hoping Clint is sleeping. But he can hear the omega tapping away at his phone. Bucky grimaces, and knocks on the door. 

“Come in,” Clint says softly. Bucky takes a deep breath, and pushes through the door.

Sure enough, the omega is sitting up, phone in hand. He looks up when Bucky comes in, and eyes him warily. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. Clint’s concern deepens. 

Bucky rushes to say, “She’s fine.” 

Clint sighs in relief. 

“Could I sit there?” Bucky says softly, pointing at the end of the bed. He waits for Clint to nod before he takes a seat. 

He looks down at his hands, one flesh, one metal. He’s never really talked to anyone about this, outside of Steve and his therapists, and he’s ready to turn tail. 

Clint’s stare, expectant yet patient, pushes him on.

“I used to be a soldier,” Bucky begins quietly, “Steve too. On a mission I was captured.” 

He pauses, risking a glance at Clint. The omega is watching him intently, phone abandoned beside him. 

Bucky swallows and says again, “I was captured.”

“Ok,” Clint says quietly. A long silence passes.

“I was hurt,” Bucky finally says, and clears his throat.

“It’s helpful to talk to people like me,” Bucky says, “and I do. Sometimes.” 

_When Steve makes him._ Bucky doesn’t say that though. He swallows again; looking up at the omega. 

“Ok,” Clint says, brows furrowed in thought. 

He doesn’t look, or smell, afraid of him.

Bucky takes a breath. 

“Just a thought,” the alpha finishes lamely, ignoring the lump in his throat.

“Thanks,” Clint says, confused. 

Bucky panic-calls Sam later, and though he feels like he mangled things completely, his friend has nothing but praise for him. 

Red faced, Bucky redirects the conversation, and distracts Sam with good natured bantering over who’s food is better. 

They end the call in good spirits. 

***

Clint waves at him through the car window as Bucky pulls out of the driveway. Steve smiles broadly as they leave, arms too full of Rose to wave back. 

He can hold her in one arm, but he wouldn’t dare do that in front of Clint. It’s taken a couple months, but the omega has started to allow himself to be separated from the pup for a limited amount of time. 

Steve closes the door, hearing the car drive away slowly. He redirects his attention; Rose is a solid weight in his arms, and she’s starting to squirm. 

He laughs, lifting her in the air by her torso. He grins at her happy face. Her mouth is curled in a sweet smile, large brown eyes wide in curiosity.

“How ‘bout a puzzle?” 

Steve walks over to the colorful play-mat that takes up a good portion of the living room. He puts Rose on her bottom, and she sits there quietly, watching his every move as he pulls the knob puzzle toward her.

There’s 5 pieces, and she’s gotten pretty good at putting them where they belong. Once she has a grip on one of the pieces, Steve settles on his stomach on the floor to watch. 

As with everything, the wood ends up in her mouth first. She gnaws on the piece with her sharp teeth, leaving marks. 

Rose’s pup teeth came in quickly, and Steve had the misfortune of being her first teething ring. Her bite almost broke the skin on his hand, much to his surprise. 

Steve knew the teeth were supposed to help pups eat solid foods, but he had no idea how sharp they truly are. 

He loves her dearly, but he'll be very relieved once they fall out and her adult teeth start to grow in. 

Rose soon gets bored of chewing, becoming more interested in the alpha on the floor with her. Steve grabs her up, and rolls to his back. She screams in glee as he settles her on his stomach. 

He laughs with her, and latching onto her hands, allows her to sit up and bounce on his chest. He gently lets go when it's obvious she wants to do some more exploring. 

“How ‘bout a fashion show?” Steve grins, waiting for her to climb back onto the floor. She doesn’t respond, but he’s sure she wants a fashion show too.

He gets to his feet, Rose in arm and dances down the hall, swaying with her on the way to the nursery. He places her in the crib, which she is _not_ happy about, and rifles around in a changing table drawer. 

He finds what he’s looking for, deeply hidden among the spare changing pad and first aid kit. Before her fussing turns into crying, he lifts her from the crib.

She’s due for a change, so he cleans her and puts her in a fresh diaper before the fashion show. He looks this way and that, as if Bucky and Clint would materialize out of thin air. They don’t thankfully, so he redirects his attention.

He grabs his selection and walks with Rose to the living room. He places her on the couch, and picks his favorite option. 

Steve helps her into the clothing, thoroughly pleased with himself. She doesn’t complain, so he _definitely_ caught her on a good day.

If Rose doesn’t like something, she gladly lets them know. For now, she lets him shove her arms and legs into the onesie. He zips it up and gently pulls the hood over her head. 

Steve props her up on the couch cushion and takes a step back. She stares up at him in confusion, as he makes an incomprehensible noise at the cuteness.

Rose is wearing a brown bear jumpsuit; and the round ears sitting atop the hood makes him melt again. 

Steve hurriedly pulls out his phone, to avoid her overheating, and snaps tons of photos. Rose puts up with it for about a minute before she starts getting fussy again. 

He helps her out of it, and she instantly quiets down once she’s left in nothing but her diaper. Steve can’t help but feel she’s trained him.

Regardless, he has his pictures and neither Bucky nor Clint have to know. 

They don’t keep secrets but Bucky will give him shit for it, and he doesn’t think Clint would be a big fan of Rose being dressed in anything besides her onesies. 

But the deed is done.

He plucks the pup from where she sits on the couch, and lays her back against his legs. He uses one hand to find the plastic rattler key chain wedged between the couch cushions. 

He holds it above her head, shaking it lightly to catch her interest. She looks up at it, reaching with her hands to grab it. 

Steve dips the keys closer to her grappling hands then swoops them up higher. Again and again, enjoying the excited noises she’s making. 

She kicks her feet into his stomach, screaming in laughter. He grins at her, tossing the keys back and forth above her head. She lights up more, enjoying their game. 

Until Steve fumbles the keys, and they land on her face. He snatches them up immediately, wincing.

“Oh no, baby girl. I’m so sorry.” 

But it’s too late. 

She bursts into tears, letting him have it for his mistake. He knows she’s not hurt, not really, and her offense mostly comes from being startled. 

He tickles her stomach to distract her. It works, but she frowns at him for almost 10 minutes after.

Rose perks up when she smells Clint and Bucky approach the door. He stands to greet them, and Rose starts squirming in his arms in excitement.

Clint rushes through the door a moment later, gently lifting the pup from Steve’s arms.

The omega places a kiss on her cheek, then bends up to kiss Steve too. The alpha returns wholeheartedly, smiling at Clint softly once they break away.

Bucky grins at them, waiting for Clint to turn his attention to Rose, to be sure they’re done, before he kisses Steve in greeting too.

Bucky slips him some tongue, and Steve huffs out a quiet laugh when his partner steps back.

“Did you have fun?” Steve says.

Clint nods, distracted with cuddling Rose. 

“Managed not to cause a scene either,” Bucky says, looking at Steve pointedly, “I wonder why that is?” 

Steve glares at him, hands on hips, “I don’t cause a scene.”

Even Clint laughs, a rarity nowadays, and Steve pouts at them. 

***

Rose’s generally good mood doesn’t last into the next month and she throws a massive tantrum any time Clint leaves the room.

It’s hard on the omega, Bucky can tell, but Clint doesn’t let it ruin his progress. There’s a bit of trial and error but they soon figure out a solution. 

Rose likes to be swaddled, surrounded by Clint’s scent. It makes a huge difference, but at night it’s a different story. 

She cries almost every night, multiple times a night, and they all are exhausted. Bucky didn’t think it was possible to drink so much coffee in a day, but he’s sure the caffeinated drink has replaced his blood at this point. 

She overheats too much to sleep swaddled, but Clint and Steve make a point to linger in the nursery around bedtime to make sure their scents are strong when she drifts to sleep. 

It helped soothe her enough to get 3 straight hours of sleep, but that didn’t last long. When they suggested bringing Bucky’s scent into the mix he laughed at them. 

After another two weeks of her disruptive sleep, he acquiesced out of pure desperation. Shock kept him awake when it worked, when she slept for 5 straight hours. 

Completely flabbergasted, he joined them in their nightly ritual, marking blankets and other items in the nursery with his scent.

There are still rough nights, where she screams the house down, for a diaper change, a bottle, or affection.

This is one of those nights. Rose sounds like she wants affection but he isn’t as in tune with her cries as Steve or Clint. He groans, forcing himself to sit up. 

Steve’s getting up too, but Bucky grabs his hand. They both know Clint is already there, but Bucky can prepare the bottle if it turns out she’s hungry. 

“I’ll go check on them,” Bucky says quietly.

Steve looks at him in relief, and Bucky leans down to kiss him. The alpha responds tenderly, before turning over to rest his eyes.

Bucky rubs at his eyes as he drags himself to the nursery. As expected, Clint is already there, cradling Rose in his arms. 

His shirt is wrinkled, stained with spittle and milk. The pants he wears are from his pregnancy days, so they cling to his hips clumsily. 

His face is even more wrung out, deep bags bruise under his eyes, pale from exhaustion, lips chapped from thirst. 

The omega looks haggard as he places the calmed pup back into her crib. 

“I love you,” Bucky blurts out. And he has for months. _Fuck._

Clint’s eyes widen, and he lifts his hands out of the crib. A part of Bucky wants to take it back, but his accidental confession is the truth. 

If Clint rejects him, just as Bucky did to him a few months ago, he deserves it. 

He still gapes like a fish at the omega, waiting for Clint to laugh in his face. 

Silence passes, and Bucky starts sweating as he waits for Clint’s reaction. 

At first it seems like he’ll be ignored, which he deserves, as the omega lifts Rose out of her crib gently. 

She barely stirs, looking completely content in her sleep. Clint approaches him, face calm and open. 

When Bucky realizes Clint’s intention, he steps back once. He stops his retreat when the omega frowns at him. 

“I trust you,” Clint says softly. Bucky swallows down the lump in his throat. 

“Can you hold her?” Clint says, just as softly. Bucky nods, trembling as he gets in position to receive her. Clint gently lays the pup in his waiting arms, and adjusts as necessary. 

Bucky holds her carefully, enjoying the weight of her. 

He looks up at Clint, “I’m sorry.”

Clint just smiles at him affectionately, “It’s ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the endgame now! (LOL sorry I couldn't resist!) 
> 
> Next chapter is the last one! 
> 
> Thank you soooo much for reading!
> 
> Inspiration: "It might seem oversimplified, but it’s profound, I’d say, ‘Shhhh.’ It’s been a big thing for me, ‘Shhhh.’ It’s so funny how noisy my brain is. Everyone’s brain is noisy, it makes thoughts. The problem is, in most of our lives, the root of suffering is following that brain noise and listening to that brain noise and actually identifying with it as if it’s who you are. That’s just the noise your brain makes, and more often than not, it probably doesn’t have much to say. (Saying ‘Shhhh,’) it’s gonna help you.” - Chris Evans on anxiety


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final Chapter! Thank you for reading : )

Bucky leans on the counter, eyes half lidded as he sips on his coffee. With a lazy smile, he watches Steve feed Rose.

She sits in her high chair, cheerios placed on the tray in front of her. Steve lifts the cereal to her lips, gently asking her to open her mouth. 

Rose fusses, turning her face, thoroughly offended by Steve’s efforts. The alpha’s done this countless times over the last few months, but still gets frazzled when the pup refuses her food. 

“RoRo,” Bucky says softly. 

She tilts her head up in curiosity, forgetting she’s supposed to be mad. Bucky smirks, turning his metal arm until the sun catches the surface. 

As always, it sends her into giggles, screaming in laughter as it shines in the morning light. Steve pouts, pushing the cereal into a mound, hoping the pile will attract her attention. 

“I’m ready to make the statement,” Clint says, standing in the kitchen entrance. 

Bucky chokes on his coffee. Steve looks up in shock, mouth parting as he desperately tries to find the right words to say. 

“Could you show me where to go?” Clint says with a calm smile, though internally his heart is beating out of his chest. 

Steve nods, slack jawed. 

“I can watch her,” Bucky says, a fond smile on his face. He pulls Rose out of her highchair, settling her on his hip.

“Let’s go play with the blocks,” Bucky grins at her, Rose patting at his arm with a giggle. 

On his way out of the kitchen, he leans to place a kiss on the top of Steve’s head. He straightens, approaching Clint on his way out of the kitchen. 

With his free hand, he cradles the omega’s face and leans down to capture his lips tenderly. Clint sighs into it.

“Love you,” Bucky says softly when he pulls away, then childishly ruffles Clint’s hair. 

Clint scowls at him, reaching up to right the strands. 

Bucky snickers as he leaves the kitchen, Rose’s babbling getting quieter as they make their way into the nursery. 

“Well,” Steve stammers, “Guess we better go.” 

Clint takes the time to change his outfit. Dressing up would feel too official, too real, and he doesn’t want to give too much weight to what he’s about to do. 

He also doesn’t want to embarrass Steve at work by looking like a slob. He decides to go somewhere in between; form fitting jeans and a thick sweater. 

Steve frets when Clint meets him in the living room, frets when they walk down the driveway, frets when he turns on the car, and looks absolutely terrified as he backs the car into the street. 

Clint sighs. 

“Should I drive?” 

Steve shakes his head, “No! I’m ok, sorry,” he runs a hand down his face, “God, I’m not helping at all.” 

Clint knows it’s not funny, but he still feels mirth bubbling up. 

“It’ll be fine,” he says, choking down laughter. He firmly ignores the catch in his chest, as the car rolls through a recently turned green light. 

Clint reaches out a hand to turn on the radio, fingers trembling enough that it takes him a few tries. 

Apart from the music, the trip passes in silence. Clint breathes out once Steve makes a turn, circling around a large building. He eventually stops in front of a chrome wall. 

“Um,” Clint says.

Steve rolls down his window, holding out a key card at seemingly nothing. Clint’s jaw drops as the wall opens up to a garage.

Steve notices his shock, and grins, “Perks of being a spec ops agent. Consultant or not.”

Clint nods, eyes wide as saucers as they pull into a large garage. Steve parks, kinda crooked, next to an unmarked car. The alpha tries to look casual as he saunters toward the inside. 

Clint walks beside him, grabbing his hand, for Steve’s sake and his own. He receives a fond smile in return. 

The conference room he’s led to is nothing like what he’s seen in the movies. 

Soft light creates warmth in the carpeted room, the wood table is artfully crafted, and the chairs look soft. 

Steve stands in the doorway awkwardly, “Well, I’ll be outside. You’ll be in good hands, promise.”

Clint swallows as Steve kisses his forehead. Heart beating out of his chest, he doesn’t take his eyes off the alpha until he leaves. The door closes softly with a faint click.

Clint sits on one of the chairs, tracing a hand on the wood of the table to distract himself. The surface is smooth, and slightly cool despite the heated room. 

He startles violently when there’s a knock on the door. Before he can respond, a red haired woman pushes through, briefcase in hand. 

She has a smirk on her face, one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows lifted in an intense scrutiny. 

The woman moves gracefully, skintight black uniform barely disturbed as her body glides across the floor. 

She settles across from him, voice a raspy purr, “Natasha.” 

“Clint,” he fidgets. 

Her presence sets him on edge. He can’t smell her at _all_ , not even the residuals of scent muting colognes. 

“Everything that occurs within this next hour will be recorded, but only a select few will have access to the audio file.” 

Clint nods, “Will Steve…?”

He trails off, not sure what to think about Steve being able to hear what he’s about to say. 

Natasha shrugs, smirk falling into more of a blank look. 

“I can give him a redacted transcript. Once I’m done with it, all he’ll know is that we talked for 60 minutes today,” she says, face unreadable. 

Clint exhales shakily, “That’s ok. Don’t redact it.”

“Alright,” Natasha drawls, then clicks open the briefcase. 

She begins to pull out manila folders, but he barely notices because he’s still trying to catch a hint of her scent. He knows it’s rude, but he tries to sniffle subtly. 

She still catches him, even though her head is downturned. 

“I got spayed,” Natasha says. 

“Oh, sorry.” Clint sputters, feeling awkward. 

He curses himself; what a way to start the conversation. 

She gives him a blank look, “Don’t be.” 

Natasha returns her attention to the files, cutting on the recorder, “I’m going to show you four men. Point out any of them that look familiar to you.”

Clint nods. That sounds easy. 

She opens the first folder, pulls out a sheet of paper, and slides it across the table.

Clint looks at the picture and shakes his head, not recognizing the man at all. 

Natasha doesn’t react, sliding the next picture over to him.

He shakes his head again, and wonders what these men may mean to his statement. 

A pause, then she’s pushing the third photo toward him. Clint looks, and blind fear that he hasn’t felt in over a year overtakes him. 

His chest stutters, eyes locked on the familiar face.

“I assume you recognize this man,” Natasha says. 

Clint nods, pushing away from the picture as if it will come to life. He tries to swallow, but his mouth is too dry.

“That’s him, that’s my Claimer,” he whispers, eyes painfully wide. 

“Claimer. What does that word mean to you?” 

“He owns, owned, me,” he says softly, “That’s what I’m supposed to call him.”

Natasha quirks an eyebrow, “You can’t own people.” 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

“This is Buck Chisholm,” Natasha says. 

Despite himself, Clint wants to argue the point, that she’s calling him the wrong name. After a moment, he shuts his indignation down.

His name isn’t Claimer. 

It’s Chisholm. 

Clint shivers.

“How did you end up in his captivity?” Natasha asks. Clint takes a deep breath. 

He proceeds to tell her how his parents died, and how, after going hungry, he and his brother fled from foster care.

When they were trying to get by, his brother died too. Clint managed, as best he could, before he was captured. 

Clint stammers throughout, unsure how long he’s been talking. Natasha doesn’t interrupt him during his messy recount of events. 

When he pauses to take a breath, she says, “You weren’t captured.” 

Clint scowls at her, “Yes, I was.”

What was the point of doing this if he wasn’t going to be believed?

“You were sold,” Natasha says bluntly. 

Clint’s heart seizes, suddenly feeling lightheaded, “What?” 

“To human traffickers. It’s not normal, it shouldn’t happen, but he bought you.”

“What the hell,” Clint says, gritting his teeth. His hands tighten into fists, bracketing the picture on either side. 

Natasha’s face softens, giving him a moment to collect himself. 

“Who sold me?” 

“Classified.”

“What about.. Chisholm.” 

“Dead. He was killed in prison.”

 _Good_. Clint thinks immediately. 

After a pause, he shudders at how callous his inner voice just sounded. 

“Is there anything else you think would be important for me to know?” 

Clint shakes his head, body heavy with mental exhaustion. 

“Thank you for your time today,” she says, cutting off the recorder. He sighs in relief. 

“I have an unrelated question,” Natasha says, and for the first time since they met, she sounds uncertain. 

Clint gestures for her to continue. 

“Barnes. How is he?”

“You know Bucky?” He asks, wondering how this scary woman happened to be in the alpha’s social circle. She _could_ know him through Steve, but even then she could just ask the alpha. 

Confused, Clint squirms under her intense stare. 

“Before he retired, we worked together,” she says finally. 

Clint nods, and wholeheartedly says, “He’s doing good, doing great.”

The corner of Natasha’s lips lift in a whisper of a smile, “I think that’s all for today.”

Clint shakes her hand as he stands, and leaves the room.

Steve waits for him down the hall, fingering a loose string on his shirt. He must smell Clint, because his head shoots up before the omega even starts to approach him.

Steve stands abruptly, “All done?” 

He has sweat stains underneath his pits, shoulders tensed awkwardly. 

Clint loves him so much it hurts. 

He grabs the alpha’s hand, placing a quick kiss on it before he pulls away.

“All done.”

***

Steve hovers for days after. Bucky does too, but he’s a bit more subtle about it. 

Clint’s not sure what they expect of him, but they obviously aren’t satisfied with his reaction. Or lack of reaction. He thinks carefully on how to divert their attention.

Time to bring out the big guns. 

Sam gladly agrees to watch Rose, and after a laundry list of instructions, the three leave for the animal shelter. 

When they arrive, Clint’s glad they left Rose behind. The scents are overwhelming, and the sound of dogs barking is a bit disorienting. 

“They’re loud, and they _smell_ ,” Bucky complains as they walk down the kennels, but it’s all for show. 

When they were house hunting, the alpha was only interested in properties with a large backyard. 

Steve on the other hand is like a kid in a candy store, and Clint doesn’t even try to keep up with him. The alpha flits from cage to cage, falling in love with every dog he sees. 

Clint startles when Bucky lets out an impressed whistle. Clint looks over to see him peering into a profile placard posted on the wall, eyebrows at his forehead.

Clint walks over, and looks inside the kennel the placard belongs to. A blond dog stares back with one eye, wiggling around in excitement. 

Where the other eye should be, a nasty scar stretches across the fur and one of his ears is missing a sizable chunk. 

Reading over the placard unveils a gruesome past, and Clint winces. 

“He’s lucky he made it out alive,” Bucky mutters. 

“I see you’re interested in Arrow,” a shelter volunteer appears from nowhere, startling them both. 

Bucky nods, “Could we reserve him? We’re moving in a few weeks.” 

A huge smile breaks across the shelter volunteers’s face, he says excitedly, “Yes, of course. Arrow has been here for quite awhile, but he’s a very sweet dog.” 

“Oh, he’s a cutie,” Steve says. He must have noticed that he left them in the dust, and circled back to find them. 

Bucky begins to ask the volunteer more about Arrow’s temperament, likes, and dislikes. Steve and Clint leave them to it, following another volunteer to sign the paperwork. 

They smile at each other once finished, excited about the newest addition to their family. 

Bucky isn’t where they left him, but it doesn’t take long to find him. He stands by the entrance, looking guilty about something. 

“What’d you do?” Steve sighs.

As they get closer, it’s clear what he’s done. A sleek black cat stands on his shoulders, head swiveling around like a queen surveying her land. 

Bucky looks at them sheepishly, “ _She_ reached out to _me_. I couldn’t ignore her!” 

Steve rolls his eyes, “We said _one_ pet.” 

The cat’s regal facade melts when Clint steps in front of Bucky, and she lets out a loud meow right in Bucky’s ear. 

The alpha winces, and the cat takes a flying leap for Clint’s shoulder. She nuzzles him, rubbing her familiar scent against his neck. 

“Good to see you again,” Clint says softly, reaching up to pet her.

She refuses to be removed from Clint’s shoulders as they fill out the adoption papers for her, and only stops complaining in the car when her carrier is placed next to him. 

Bucky pouts the whole way home, “Traitor.” 

Satisfied the alphas are distracted, Clint climbs into bed happily that night.

When they move, he thinks he may join them in bed. And one day get touched in ways he never has before. One day. 

For now, he settles into bed and gets some rest. 

Because there’s something he needs to know. 

Clint waits a couple hours, until the late hours of the night, and creeps out of his room. On the way to the living room, he checks on Rose. 

She sleeps soundly, face slack peacefully. Smiling softly to himself, Clint tip toes into the living room. 

There’s an envelope on the front door with his name on it in Steve’s fancy calligraphy. 

Curious, Clint pulls it off and opens it. 

Steve’s access card sits in the envelope with two pieces of paper beside it. He lifts the card with shaking hands, and shoves it in his wallet. The first piece of paper is simple:

_Be Safe._

_I love you._

The second is a very detailed floor plan, his destination highlighted in purple marker, with a couple notes scrawled next to it.

Eyes warm, he kisses the paper in silent thanks. 

Clint takes the bus, and the ride ends before he’s ready.

A part of him wants to stay on the bus, but forces himself to exit, and walk the extra mile it takes to get to Steve’s workplace. 

Clint uses the access card to lift the garage entrance, and hustles in. No sirens wail, and the lot looks empty.

For fear he’ll get caught, and get Steve in trouble, Clint forgoes the traditional route to his destination.

Instead, he finds a faulty air vent cover, and pulls slowly, careful to limit the sounds he makes. It falls into his hand with only one pull, and he’s able to climb in easily. 

After Clint hoists himself upward, the majority of the crawl is straight forward. 

But the trip is hard. 

He has no idea what he’s about to find, or if this is a waste of time. But, he won’t be able to rest without knowing, even if the information turns out to be useless to him. 

Clint peers down once he’s sure he’s above the room. The space is devoid of people, and rows of tall cabinets stretch across the floor.

After a bracing moment, Clint pushes himself out of the vent feet first. Once most of his lower half hangs out, he takes a breath and drops down. His knees protest at the landing, but overall the impact doesn’t hurt. 

Clint reaches into his pocket to pull out Steve’s instructions.

“Drawer 107,” Clint mutters to himself, walking along the rows of cabinets carefully. It doesn’t take long for him to find Drawer 107, and he presses his trembling fingers against it.

Breathing out shakily, he slowly pulls the drawer open. A manila folder harmlessly sits inside. 

The folder vibrates as he lifts it with unsteady hands. He cradles the folder with one arm, using the other hand to flick through each page.

The words are incredibly confusing, but once he figures them out, the information he needs pops up after a few more flips of the paper. 

His mouth goes dry.

Clint reads the page again, hoping he misread.

The words remain the same. 

Blind rage overtakes him, and he barely pauses to think as he leaves. 

Climbing through the vents, walking out of the garage, and hailing a taxi are a blur to him. 

His coherency doesn’t return until he ends up close, too close, to the motel he’d been held in for years. 

Clint practically vibrates in fury, and shuts the taxi door harder than he meant to when he gets out. 

***

Once he finds the apartment number, he pounds on the door roughly, knocking hard enough to shake the wood. 

After an eternity, a tall man with auburn hair opens the door, bleary eyed. He rubs a hand against his face, yawning loudly.

“What?” the man says rudely. He sniffles once and his eyes shoot open, hand dropping from his face. 

“Baby bro!” The man says with a dramatic smile, throwing his arms out. 

“Barney.” Clint glares at him. 

Ignoring Clint’s sour face, Barney ushers him into the studio apartment. 

It’s small, and dirty clothes are littered across every surface. Old take out boxes are knocked over a chipped coffee table. 

The kitchen is fairly clean. Clint can only assume it’s because his brother never uses it. 

He lets himself be led into the apartment but stays by the door. 

Barney sits on the couch, patting at the cushion beside him. Clint stares at his brother’s eager face, and acquiesces, making it a point to sit as far away as possible. 

Barney smiles at him, “Look at you, all grown up.” 

Hands balled into fists on his lap, Clint grits out, “With no help from you.”

“Whoa, what’s this hostility? You come all this way to visit me and for what?” Barney smirks. 

“I saw you die,” Clint bites out. 

“You _assumed_ I died,” Barney smirks at him, eyes mirthful, “Got scraped off the pavement while you ran from the cops.” 

Clint scowls at him. 

“You sold me,” he accuses, and hopes it isn’t true, hopes the entire agency got it wrong.

“We needed the money.” Barney shrugs, smirk still in place. Rage pushes away his heartbreak. 

“We? Or _you_?” 

Barney smirk drops, “Goddamn, let me at least get some coffee first. What the fuck are you talking about?” 

Barney gets up to brew the coffee and Clint stomps after him. 

“You know what I’m talking about.” 

“Wow, ungrateful much? I set you up with a job, cash split 50/50. You clean up for ‘em for a couple years, maybe do some cookin’, and then you’re set.” 

Clint tightens his fists so much they hurt, “I never saw any money.” 

Barney rolls his eyes, “Then your dumbass got hustled. Or was your cookin’ that shit? I always told you not to-.” 

“He raped me.” 

And Clint suddenly, clearly and sharply, knows he didn’t deserve it. 

He’s never said it before, never truly grasped that it wasn’t his fault, until this moment. Hearing himself say it and believe it, knocks his breath away. 

“The fuck you just say?” Barney says, eyebrows furrowed. 

“He raped me, for years. And there were others, maybe _dozens,_ of alphas that raped me too.” 

Barney abruptly turns away from him and starts fixing the coffee. “You want a cup? I drink this shit black so there’s no creamer.” 

“Did you hear what I just said?” Clint demands, voice raising. 

“Shut the fuck up for a second. I’m thinking.” Barney says, and takes a big gulp from his mug. 

“No, you shut the fuck up.” Clint spits, “Did you know?”

Barney’s expression darkens, “Fuck you. Of course not,” he mumbles, “I need something stronger.” 

He grabs a bottle of whisky and pours it generously into his mug, “Sure you don’t want any?” 

With a smirk, Barney tips his mug back and forth invitingly. 

Before Clint knows what he’s done, the mug is a pile of broken porcelain and coffee, spread across the floor. 

“God damnit!” Barney says, narrowing his eyes, “Anyone else and you’d be laid out on the floor with it.” 

Unable to help it, Clint tenses slightly in anticipation to be hurt, to be punished. 

Then he’s mad at that too, that he still feels that way sometimes. 

“Screw this,” Clint mutters, and leaves the kitchen to walk toward the front door.

“Wait just a second.” Barney grabs his arm and Clint violently snatches it away, “We don’t see each other since we were kids and that’s it? You’re just gonna leave?”

“Yes,” Clint says, jaw tight. 

“You don’t want to catch up?” Barney says, eyeballing him in disbelief. 

They stare at each other in silence. 

“Fine,” Clint says roughly. Barney smiles. 

“Atta boy,” he hustles to the kitchen and makes more coffee. When they’ve both got mugs in hand, and settle on the couch, Barney is quiet. 

“Where’ve you been all these years?” Clint says, face hard. 

Barney looks into his mug but doesn’t say anything. As the silence stretches, Clint moves to stand up. 

He hesitates when Barney opens his mouth.

“So you were a prostitute or somethin?” He says, not looking Clint in the face. 

The omega forces himself to take steadying breaths before talking. He refuses to let his voice waver. 

“Something like that,” he says.

Before he can blink, Barney’s in his space sniffling, close enough that he’s almost laying over him. Clint shoves him off harshly. 

“What, you decided you want your cut? Gonna mount me too? Make me take your knot?” 

Barney looks at him in shocked disgust, “‘the fuck is wrong with you?” 

Clint glowers at him, arms crossed. 

“You’ve pupped? I think I smell it.” Barney says, eyes squinting in consideration. 

Clint sets his jaw, “Yes.” 

A smile breaks over the darkened clouds of Barney’s face, “I’m an Uncle?”

Without waiting for his brother to respond, Barney jumps to his feet, and crows,“I’m an Uncle!” 

“Shut up! Some of us are trying to sleep!” Yells his neighbors from below. 

“I’m an Uncle!” Barney says again, louder, to be petty. “How old is it?” 

Clint scowls, “ _She_ is 11 months old.” 

“When am I meeting her? What’s her name?”

“Her name is Rose,” If possible, Barney lights up even more, “and you’re never meeting her.” 

Barney’s jaw drops, then he pulls himself together with a frown, “Family’s important baby bro.”

Enraged, Clint stands abruptly. Barney doesn’t react at all, frown turning into an eager smile. 

“Come on,” he wheedles, “lemme meet her.” 

“No.” 

“Let me prove it to you that I’ll be a good Uncle, cause I will, then let me meet her.”

Clint’s brow furrows, skeptical. 

“Don’t give me that look. We’ll start with phone calls right? Work our way up to me watching her for a coupla days.” 

Clint sighs, “Give me your phone.” 

Barney does, fishing it out of the mound of trash on his coffee table. Clint programs his number into the cell and calls himself to save the number. 

“There. _I’ll_ call _you_.” Clint says. Barney grins at him. 

“Sounds good Clinton. You wanna stay over? We can cuddle up just like old times,” Barney snickers, half-jokingly. 

“No.” Clint says on his way out.

Barney follows him. 

At the door he says, “But actually call me alright? Just to chat once in a while.”

Clint nods, surprising himself that he plans to. He leaves the apartment, only for Barney to crowd into his space again. 

His brother mutters, “and, uh, I guess I’m sorry and shit,” and slams his apartment door. 

Clint shakes his head, huffing out an incredulous laugh. He ignores the wetness in his eyes, feeling lighter than he has in years. 

He goes home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! 
> 
> I can’t possibly express how thankful I am of you!! Thank you for your kudos, comments, thoughts, and reading!! You all made this worth it and I’m so happy you stuck with it to the end.
> 
> You might have noticed that they have not have sex yet. To me, Clint's recovery from rape was not about how soon afterward he had his first sexual experience. I do want to explore his sexuality, their ongoing relationship, and of course Barney. And I will! 
> 
> Introducing: Can’t Take Me from Spirit Stallion of the Cimarron, Coming: Eventually?
> 
> I'm going to focus on other projects now, but in the VERY distant future I think I'll revisit Clint's journey. 
> 
> Right now, I'm blanking on interesting writing prompts unrelated to this fic! If you have any MCU ideas I'd love to hear 'em! 
> 
> Again, I am truly so very thankful of everyone who took the time to read this story! It means a lot. 
> 
> Final Inspiration: "Healing takes courage, and we all have courage, even if we have to dig a little to find it.” – Tori Amos


End file.
